A Figure in the Fog
by HoneyLynx
Summary: A 27 yr old skeleton is found inside a scientist's house. Catherine finds the case not only connecting to her, but also to Sara. Their pasts trace back into a chilling conspiracy and people doing anything to keep it quiet. CS
1. Prologue

**Disclaimers:** Not my characters, yada yada. Sue me and you'll end up with squat.

**Author's Note:** Damn, I can't resist suspense. No spoilers, other than scarce mentions from here and there. Not too graphic or gory. T for language and some violence. It's femmeslash. Don't like? Simple, click that red cross at the top of your page.

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* * *

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**Prologue**

**_1989, Las Vegas, The French Palace_**

_For the fifteenth time that evening, Sara tried to think of a reason why she should be there, and for the fifteenth time she came up empty. The screaming, bustling crowd, the air thickened by a potpourri of cigarette smoke, various brands of perfume, tangy alcohol and the more baser human sweat, was making her sick. She plucked out a stick from her own pocket and shoved it between her lips._

"_Here, let me." A young man – more like a boy - approached her with a lighter. Sara allowed him to light her cigarette while idly appraising him. He was handsome enough, but for his shaggy, unruly locks and the yellowed tobacco stain on his teeth. _

"_You alone?"_ _He grinned eagerly at her. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be alone."_

_Sara almost rolled her eyes at his pickup lines. "Nope, not alone."_

_His smile faded a bit. "Don't see anyone around ya." _

"_Looks can be pretty deceiving."_

"_Hey Sara."_ _A petite blonde slid herself on the chair beside her. _

_The guy stared at this new woman, and then at Sara, and then back at her. He grunted, "Dykes."_

"_Excuse me, what did you say?" The blonde leant forward challengingly._

_He smirked. "Forget it, ladies."_

"_What's his deal?" She asked Sara once the guy quickly retreated within the crowds._

"_He was trying to get laid." Sara took a swig of her beer. Her head was paining and she wanted to get to her hotel and sleep the night away. But it was Josie's birthday and she couldn't just leave. _

"_And are you?"_

"_Am I what?"_

"_You know, get laid."_

_Sara shrugged._

"_C'mon Sara, when's the last time you had sex?"_

_She was about to come up with some snappy retort when her attention got diverted towards the stage. An audience had already gathered by the foot of the makeshift podium and hooting catcalls echoed all around the dingy club. It seemed the entire brimming population in the place were shuffling and pushing to get nearer to the scene._

_Her eyebrows rose. "Are we having some kind of guest performance?" _

_Josie gave her an incredulous look. "Sara, didn't you read the board outside?"_

"_I must have missed it." She replied nonchalantly. "Besides, who are we expecting, Boney M?"_

"_Honey, this is a strip club."_

_Sara choked on her beer. She sputtered, until she got the burning liquid out of her windpipe. "What!"_

"_I thought you read."_

"_You brought me to a strip club?"_

"_This is Vegas." Josie answered defensively, as if that was self-explanatory._

"_Josie, I'm leaving!" Sara slammed the bill on the bar table and stood._

"_C'mon Sara, it'll be fun. And it's not just the gals stripping. We have male strippers too."_

"_Right, I'm going orgasmic just thinking about it."_

"_Sara, please." Josie grabbed her hand, pulling her to a stop. "When we return back to Harvard, I have only six months before I get engaged. Peter is a nice guy - rich, educated, well-connected, the whole deal. But I'll never have this chance to… see things again. Soon I'll be married to him and will be raising his babies. Just this one time, please?"_

_Sara shook her head. "You have no idea how nasty things can get once the show starts. Why don't you just rent some erotica?"_

"_So, you are leaving?"_

"_Josie…"_

"_Fine, leave."_

_Sara sighed. "Alright, I'll stay. But we don't stay all the way through, deal?"_

_She looked pleased. "Deal. Thanks Sara."_

"_I'll just catch a breath of air." Sara looked around. "I feel as if I'll suffocate out here."_

_Josie nodded absently, her attention focused on the emerging dancers.

* * *

_

_Outside, Sara took her final puffs before discarding the burnt out roll. The nicotine embers had just about died under her boots when she heard loud voices behind her._

"_Get out of here!" A woman screamed._

"_God, Cath, stop being so stubborn. You knew what you were getting into when you signed up this job. It's just goin' from one thing to another."_

"_I'm not a slut and I won't whore myself!" _

"_So, what do you think you are doing up there, Russian ballet?"_

"_Go away, Johnny. I'm tired." Sara heard a sliver of desperation behind the woman's calm._

"_Baby, don't make me use force."_

_Even before she realized what she was doing, Sara shouted, "Ma'am, you alright out there?"_

_There was a heavy silence. Each of them was assessing the situation and its risks. She couldn't catch a good look of the two, but she noticed the flashy attire on the woman's body. Probably a dancer, she thought. _

"_Mind your own business, bitch." The man spat._

"_Sure, I'll just call 911 then."_

_The man breathed a series of curses before she saw him lean away from the woman. Without another word, he walked away._

"_Thanks."_

_Sara shrugged and then thought that she was probably as obscured in the dark as the woman was, so she said, "No problem. You okay, though?"_

"_Yeah, bad day."_ _A dry chuckle escaped. "I better get going."_

"_You need someone to walk you?" She was surprised at her newfound gallantry._

"_No, I'll be fine. Johnny's not going to show his ass tonight."_

"_Well, you take care then."_

"_Yeah, you too."_ _A pause. "Thanks again. Very much."

* * *

_

**I know how this looks, but it's not A/U**


	2. Tis just an absurd feeling

**This chapter contains very mild spoilers from Season 6 Finale: _Way to Go. _Thanks to all who read and reviewed.**

**Regarding the date, I realize I put 1979 earlier which was a complete error. It is supposed to be 1989 and I've corrected it. Thanks to those who pointed it out. As for the '27-year old skeleton', there's no mistake in that. It'll become clear as the story progresses. Sorry for the confusion.**

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* * *

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**Chapter One**

'**Tis just an absurd feeling**

When Sara climbed into Grissom's SUV instead of her own sedan, they thought no one saw them. They had been discreet enough, especially him, whose gaze occasionally flicked sideways for any sign of a third person in that deserted parking lot. If Sara was hurt that he was so anxious to keep their relationship a secret, she didn't voice it. Besides, she shared his need for privacy. It was less humiliating when – _if_ – things didn't work out.

But they had completely missed noticing Catherine sitting by herself in her car. She had been talking to her mother regarding Lindsay when she saw those two walk up together. She curiously traced their steps and didn't miss the flirtatious smile Grissom threw Sara's way. He held the door open for the woman and deliberately touched her elbow. Sara flushed, leading to an awkward moment between the two. They finally ducked in and drove away.

Catherine became aware of her mother's almost panicked shout at the other end. She had been so engrossed that she had completely forgotten that she still held her phone. Telling Lily that she'd be home soon, she ended the call. She sat there, breathing hard and not too sure why she was so bothered by what she had seen. That Grissom and Sara had always had a thing going on was common lab knowledge. Of course, nobody had any evidence regarding a concrete relationship between them.

She turned the key into her ignition and felt the engine purr through the seat. She promised herself that she wouldn't think too much about it. After all, what Grissom did outside the lab was purely his business. And as for Sara, she barely liked the woman enough to be concerned about her.

Some things are easier thought than done.

* * *

Sara slid out of bed, careful not to wake the person beside her. She gathered the bathrobe she had neatly discarded upon the chair. Shrugging into it, she noiselessly tiptoed out of the room. 

Her apartment had a large semi-circular balcony that surrounded her entire outside perimeter. She opened the glass door, but didn't step out. Instead, she leant against the doorpost and looked out at the skyline that was Sin City.

"Sara?"

She jumped out of her skin at the unexpected voice behind her. It was only Grissom.

"Shit, did I wake you?" She asked, concerned.

He shook his head as he came to stand directly opposite her. "I was awake."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I guess I'm not all that used to sleeping in the night."

Sara smiled at that.

"You have a nice view out here." He said.

"One of the reasons why I took this place. Whenever I'm sad or troubled, I just come here. It helps me relax."

He turned to look at her. "Is that why you're here now?"

She blinked. "What? No, I-I didn't mean it like that. God, no."

"Are you sure, Sara?"

"Of course, I'm sure!" She asserted forcefully.

"Okay."

"You don't believe me?"

He didn't answer.

"You think I came here right now, because I'm… I'm sad?"

Her only reply was a slight tilt of his head.

"God, Grissom, why do you have to be this… closed? If you have something to say, spit it!"

"I don't have anything to say, Sara, but I'm asking you to. Are you upset about us?"

"Why on earth would I be upset?"

"Maybe because achieving the chase isn't all that appealing as the chase itself?"

Her jaws dropped in both shock and anger. "Is that what you think it is for me? A chase? A fucking chase? Could you have gotten any more cruel?"

He remained unfazed. "Am I right?"

"I'm certainly not gracing that with an answer." She spun around, her every nerve bristling with rage.

"Why did you wait so long? Anyone else in your position would have moved on."

"Did it ever occur to you that it could have been love?" She spat.

"I don't doubt it's love. I know you love me, just the way I love you. But it's not the same as wanting to be together, Sara." Grissom scratched his chin. "It's not the same thing."

"Spare me."

"In there, we weren't making love." He said quietly. "I don't hold any unrealistic expectations of sex being some spiritual union of bodies, but I know when it goes wrong."

"Maybe I was the one who disappointed you. Maybe I just didn't hold up to Lady Heather or… or… who knows, Sofia maybe?" Sara bit her lip.

"No, we didn't disappoint each other. It wasn't like that. It's like when you have a case and all evidence points to a particular person. But deep down in your gut, you don't believe he's the one."

Sara stared at him incredulously.

He gave her a sad smile. "Logically, there's nothing that should make you this uneasy, but you can't get rid of the bad feeling."

"I didn't know you had these instincts." Despite herself, she was somewhat intrigued by what he told her.

"I do, but I never act on them. They trouble me, when I'm all alone and that's when I, like you, seek solitude and some fresh air."

"So, you are having the… same… instinct here?"

He took a deep breath and walked out into the veranda. "Is it just another absurd feeling or am I onto something here? I need to know, Sara."

"I don't know, maybe I'm just a little too overwhelmed with everything. Brass almost got shot and now we, here, like this." She waved her hands to indicate both of them. "I don't really know."

At the crushed look on his face, she quickly added, "But, you know, we could still give this a try?"

Grissom took a while to answer. "I'm taking some time off."

Before a surprised Sara could say anything, he continued. "I haven't visited my mother for sometime. Actually, it has been a good seven years. It was before you came to Vegas."

"Did you tell anyone about this?"

"No, but I have been thinking about it."

She rubbed her forehead. "How long would you be gone?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "A month maybe… or more."

"And you are coming back, right?"

He broke into a smile. "Of course."

"You know they'd miss you."

"Would you miss me?"

"Grissom, that's a really silly question." She scoffed.

"Yeah, I suppose." He looked up. "It's morning."

They watched silently as the first beams of light illuminated the horizon.

* * *

They weren't the only ones tracking the slow progress of light across the dark sky. Catherine was propped up against the several pillows on her bed and staring out of her bedroom window. She couldn't fall asleep and the idea of taking the help of sleeping pills didn't appeal to her. 

Besides, she had quite a lot to think about.

There was Warrick and the loss of her chance with him. Though, she realized grudgingly, it had been partly her fault. She should have approached him, but she had allowed herself to date other men, while holding on to a thin thread of fantasy with him. Sometimes, she annoyed herself.

Then there was Brass. She had never shared a beer with the man. She knew next to nothing about his wife or estranged daughter. She had only been to dinner with him alongwith other colleagues, and it had always been brief. They didn't share pain or feelings. And yet, in the past 24 hours she felt like she had almost lost a best friend. Sometimes, her own life confused her.

Then there was Sara… and Grissom. She wasn't jealous of Sara. She and Grissom were close friends, but their feelings didn't run that way. She wasn't insecure that it would mean more weight for the brunette in the lab. If she knew Grissom, and she knew his nature quite well, he never let his personal life interfere with his professional. And yet, there was this really odd sensation in the pits of her stomach. She couldn't quite place it. After brewing over it for hours, she finally put it down to concern for her friend. She wanted him to be happy and hoped Sara would make him happy.

But she found herself wondering whether he would make Sara happy.

* * *


	3. What are we dealing with?

**Chapter Two **

**What are we dealing with? **

Doc Robbins thrust the scalpel into the limpid skin and expertly moved it across the chest. Reaching the end of the breastbone, he twisted his wrist slightly to maneuver it down all the way to the navel. With the Y-incision complete, he took the now loose skin flap and peeled it off to reveal the blood-caked ribcage.

He began muttering his observations aloud, which in an ME's room was no strange thing. His voice was being recorded in an old cassette recorder for reference.

He proceeded towards the gastrointestinal system, meticulously disengaging the organs from their tubes. He was just about to scoop out the dark, heavy mass that was the stomach when he felt something move beneath his fingers. Peering closer, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Attributing it to a delusion of an overworked mind, he continued. The organ seemed to have been stuck and he gently tugged. He was surprised at the force he had to use, since the procedure usually never required it. Then suddenly it ripped out, causing him to momentarily lose his balance. He quickly placed the bulk onto the tray where it settled amidst a pool of viscous fluid.

As he returned his attention to the corpse and looked at the void where the stomach used to be, a gasp spasmed out from his throat. It took him a couple of seconds to recover his wits. He stepped back and turned towards the overhanging microphone.

"In… in the cavity, just above the duodenum, there is… something. It's no identifiable substance. It weighs about eleven ounces. It is definitely biological. It is alive."

* * *

Sara sipped her can of root beer, squinting at the illustration of an average human digestive tract. An article in the latest issue of **_Nature_** had caught her interest. She heard Catherine enter and greet the others in the break room, but she quickly dismissed it from attention and concentrated on the interesting, but rather creepy, paper. She was hoping to get her reading done before Grissom showed up. 

"Sara!"

She jolted as she felt a touch on her shoulder. "Nick, what?"

"Catherine's here."

She looked past him at the blonde who was coolly staring at her.

"I'm sorry, did something happen?" Sara frowned.

"Assignments, Sara."

"Oh." Suddenly, it dawned upon her. For a moment, she had forgotten that Grissom wouldn't be there. He was on vacation and, in his absence, Catherine was to supervise the Graveyard shift.

Swallowing a slight resentment, she mustered a smile towards the woman. "Sorry about that. What you got for me?"

"You have a missing persons." Catherine placed a folder near to where Sara was sitting. "Take Greg with you."

"Okay." Sara saw that the others were already leaving the room, but Catherine seemed to have no such intention. "Is there a problem?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I don't understand."

The woman leant her hip against the stainless steel tabletop. "Sara, I think we should discuss…"

"About what?"

Catherine flinched at the naked antagonism in those dark eyes. She realized she didn't have the strength for a sparring match. Sighing, she straightened. "You should get going."

Sara picked up the folder and stood up.

* * *

Sara paid only a fraction of an attention as Greg expressed his desire to audition at Rock Star Supernova. The passing scenery of the desert held much more appeal for her as she got absorbed into the past. 

---

**A Week Earlier…**

_"Sara!" _

_She stopped at the voice. _

_Catherine's heels clicked on the tiled floor as she brought her petite frame towards the taller woman. "We need to talk." _

_"Cath, can this wait? Brass is waiting for me at the PD." _

_"No, this can't wait." _

_Sara blinked at the edge in her colleague's voice. She tried to remain composed as her mind began mulling over all the possible reasons why Catherine was angry. "Okay, what is it?" _

_"I've just been slapped with a harassment suit by Keenan DelMar. Apparently, you followed and manhandled his daughter at her campaign rally." _

_"I wouldn't go so far as calling it manhandling, Catherine." Sara's lips thinned. _

_"I don't care what you call it." She snapped. "The point is that you should have consulted me before barreling after a public figure like Lisa DelMar. We are lucky that Lisa took back the charges, even though her father was all too eager to kick our asses." _

_"I had evidence. Brass had a warrant. We had every right to be at the rally and arrest her. The bitch had been playing around the warrant and giving us the slip. I didn't do anything wrong." _

_Catherine rubbed her forehead exasperatedly. "You were captured on camera and to a lay person you don't look all that pretty." _

_"No, that's your job." _

_"Look Sara, I don't doubt that you had sufficient cause and reason to do what you did. But you could have given me a little heads up. I had no fucking idea what to say to DelMar's lawyers because – hey, you know what – I didn't have a clue what they were talking about." _

_Sara clenched her jaw. "Are you saying that I should be reporting my every tiny step to you? I never did that when Grissom was here." _

_"I'm not Grissom, now, am I?" _

_"No, you are not. You are just his temporary replacement." _

_The women faced each other in heavy silence as Sara's words sunk in. Hurt, anger and regret bounced the distance between them until the brunette abruptly turned away. _

_"If you don't like the way I work, you'll just have to take me off the case. Meanwhile, if you excuse me, I have to go."_

_--- _

"Sweetheart?"

Sara spun and saw a grinning Greg. She scowled, disoriented at the contradiction between the face and the word of endearment.

Seeing her confusion, his grin only widened. "Since you responded, does that mean I have a chance?"

Coming back to the present, she rolled her eyes. "Not in this lifetime, Greggo."

* * *

"What was the 911, Doc?" Catherine breezed into the chilled confines of the autopsy room. 

"I had to show you this before it died."

"Before it _what_?" Unconsciously, her gaze shifted to the corpse lying face-up in front of the ME. Nothing in this room ever _dies_. That event always occurs somewhere else. This was where the how was determined. It is possible, in one or two very rare occasions, for something to come alive in this room. Next to impossible for anything to die here.

He held up a steel tray for her to see. She noticed how Doc's face had grown paler than the corpse. She inched hear head closer to get a better look.

At first glance, it had the soft, wet look of intestinal tissues. It was, however, a pale green and, as she noted further, a faint coat of hair-like structures covered it.

It throbbed. It didn't wiggle or squirm, like one would expect from an _organism_ with such a body structure. It throbbed; the way a living, palpitating heart throbs. She had never encountered anything like this… _thing_ before. But, then again, her knowledge of botany and zoology was quite limited.

"What in the fires of hell is this?"

"Simply put, I don't know." He carefully placed the tray back on the table. "I got a sample for tox. I also got one for the UNLV School of Life Sciences. I've even notified CDC and the Nevada Biohazards Control. They should be here as we speak"

"Wait, the CDC?"

He fixed her with an intense look. "Catherine, I found this inside this guy's body, attached to his stomach. If you ask me, I think it's some kind of parasite. Nothing that I can determine, but we may be dealing with a sort of contagion."

"What?" Involuntarily, she felt a shudder of disgust shoot through her as she moved back.

"I don't think it's airborne. It can't be. I have tested it for radioactivity. Negative. Nevertheless, I'm sorry to expose you to this." His face fell. "But I had to show this to someone else. Someone I could trust, before it disappeared forever."

"I understand, Doc. I would have been so mad if you'd had shipped it off without showing it to me." She gave him a weak smile, before returning her gaze at the serene-looking dead body. "Did this kill him?"

"There were no visible signs of trauma on the guy. His heart and lungs seem absolutely fine. I would have said the same for his stomach, had it not been completely empty. There was nothing, not even a wine molecule, in it."

"Probably sucked out by this little guy right here."

"He didn't look starved, so lack of nutrition didn't kill him. I've sent his blood to the lab. Maybe our parasite released a kind of toxin in the bloodstream. As of now, I don't have a COD."

She gave the specimen a glance before taking shots of it with her camera. "His wife said he died, just like that, without any warning."

"What are we dealing with?" Doc Robbins questioned, while the pulsating slowed down until the mass stopped moving.

* * *


	4. There's Something Inside

**Chapter Three**

**There's Something Inside **

Catherine felt like screaming as the cold tip of an instrument probed across her bare back. She had spent four hours under the intensive examination of the Biohazards people and she couldn't help thinking of all the other things she could have done in that time.

"Is that it?" She asked the stocky woman, dressed in the yellow bio-protection suit.

"Yep." She replied dismissively.

"Am I clear?"

"Hang on a minute." She raised her index finger as her radio cackled. Murmuring in a low voice, she was over even before Catherine could figure out what she was saying. The woman turned towards her, her face indeterminate behind the huge mask. "Yeah, you are good. But just in case you feel nauseous or any strange body pain, be sure to notify us."

As soon as Catherine got dressed and stepped out into the main corridors, she was greeted by an eager Hodges.

"Heard you saw an alien." He struggled to keep up to her pace.

"It wasn't an alien."

"C'mon. Worm-looking, parasitic, breathing, indeterminate thing; who are you kidding?"

"I don't know what it is, but it's _not_ an alien." She said shortly. "And don't you go spreading it around."

"Too late."

She noticed with some weariness how Nick and Warrick were waiting for her outside her office. Curiosity was etched on their face. She didn't doubt Greg would be far. Sure enough, he poked his tousled head out of her office.

"Hi guys." She greeted, after she shot Hodges a withering glare.

Obviously they didn't get the message because Greg all but pounced on her with questions.

"So, how did it look like?"

"Did you touch it?"

"Did it smell? Did it make a sound? Did it try to communicate?"

"Did the Doc find any non-IUPAC chemicals in its structure?"

"Everyone, stop!" She shouted, effectively quieting them. "Don't you guys have something better to do? Cases? Paperwork? If you don't, I have a pile waiting in my office."

Greg muttered another one of his jokes. Nick flashed his charming Texan smile, hoping it would appease her. Warrick didn't want to get caught in the Willows temper and wisely stepped aside.

Catherine continued her way to the break room to get a much needed dose of caffeine. When she saw Sara already in there, she hesitated by the doorway. The last thing she needed right then was another confrontation. But strangely, she felt like talking to the brunette. Must be her suicidal instinct, she thought.

"Hey." Sara looked up, her earlier coldness replaced by the curiosity that – Catherine knew – must have infected the entire lab by now.

"Hey Sara, and no, I'm not telling you what it looked like."

Sara pretended shock. "I never asked."

"But you were going to." Catherine smiled a little before stepping towards the coffee machine. "Besides, I'm not really sure how to describe it. Fleshy, green and alive don't quite seem to fit it."

"Oh, but it does sound familiar. E.T. anyone?"

"Not really E.T. But one of his organs, sure." She took a sip from the beverage and reveled in the hormonal alertness it spiked.

"Well, you've got the case of the year."

Catherine looked up to see if the woman was being sarcastic, but all she saw was genuine interest, tinged with a slight amusement. She shrugged, "It could just be a bad lunch, for all we know."

Sara's pager beeped and she quickly excused herself, half-running, half-walking out. Catherine watched her disappear out of sight, not aware that she was sipping an already drained mug.

* * *

For as long as Doc Robbins remembered, he had wanted to be a medical professional. He didn't quite make a physician, because his bedside manners were thought to be a little too blunt and insensitive. He realized a career examining corpses would be much suited for him. After all, the dead don't hear, don't mind and don't complain. But they sure have a lot to reveal and he loved trying to decipher it. 

However, as each year progresses since the first time he stepped into a morgue, he learns more and more of the world that is inhabited by the so-called science academia – not all of them good. Science, like every other field in this world, has become a commercial trade market. You have dazzling talkshow-ready people spewing scientific jargon and dishing out bestseller books. You have eminent scientists who have sold their ideas like a common whore. You have large, mammoth corporations charging obnoxious prices for medications. For the pop culture consumer, science has become synonymous with the Phils and Atkins and Cruises of today. There is no integrity left amongst scientists as they indulge in unfair battle for their grants and patronages. The meek and idealistic are trampled and left to crawl.

While such news is enough to condemn a self-respecting scientist into depression, there's also a fraction of individuals who have upheld the traditional honor of this area. And that is what keeps Al Robbins continue in hope.

But as he was perusing through his reports, he couldn't stop the flood of disgust.

"Hey Doc." Catherine walked in, trying to appear calm, but the anxiety was clear on her face.

"Catherine, I have good news and a bad news."

"The good news, first." She said, without skipping a beat. "I think I could use some of that now."

"Well, the UNLV School of Life Sciences examined the organism, and they have cleared it from its database of known epidemics."

"Well, just because it's not in the database, doesn't really mean it's not dangerous." She reasoned. "It could be an unknown pathogen, or even a mutagenic form of other pathogens."

"Yes, but the thing is that they _do_ know what it is."

"Oh?"

He sighed. "Here comes the bad news. They were able to identify a specific gene marker in its structure. It didn't take too long, the marker was for all to see and hard to miss, since it serves the same function a hologram logo does."

"You mean," She lifted her eyebrows. "That thing was _manufactured_?"

"In the basic terms, yes. But since it's a living entity, it grew on its own."

"Whoa, whoa, hang on. So, are you saying that someone created this thing and put it in the guy's stomach?"

He picked up the file in front of him and flipped to the first page. "This month's _Nature_ has an article about two doctors, Dr. Connor Greenberg and Dr. Reetha Chaudhary. They were the heads of the team that has been trying to find a vaccine for HIV."

"How noble." Catherine murmured dryly. "And I sense a but coming."

"Well, the thing is that they were actually quite successful, or so their trials claim. Apparently, they were able to clone an antagonistic form of this retrovirus that would imitate much of the same reproductive and transport patterns as its parent, except for one major difference. While the HIV attacks macrophages and T cells, major components of the human immunity, this new clone would attack the virus itself."

"What happens if and when all the viruses are eliminated?"

"You get our dead guy." Doc Robbins replied grimly.

She stared back blankly.

"They had an extensive and probably ingenious way of disrupting the growth pattern of the virus, but they overlooked the fact that they are inserting a replicating, a very rapidly replicating, foreign substance inside the body. If the virus growth stops, so will this entity's. But that doesn't discount the fact that there is a huge mass of _something_ inside and the body has no way of knowing or fighting it. Their justification was that once the immunity levels return to its previous capacity, it will automatically deplete the body of these unwanted leftovers. But the bone marrow takes time to recover its lost immunity. But even if we assume the T-cells will leap back to its original high, it is still a living thing that these people have made. Like everything that reproduces, there are mutations. And with a rate this fast, the mutations are visible and functional in a matter of days. They knew what they created, but they had no idea what it could become."

"So, it turned into a parasite?" Catherine was so overwhelmed, she didn't know what else to ask.

"Maybe. Or maybe, just the fact that it was disrupting the normal digestive process, it wreaked havoc for our guy."

"Well, so now that we know this, we can take it with the correct authorities and stop these doctors from continuing, right?"

"I'm afraid, it's not that simple. The consequences have been pointed out and by all accounts their experiment should have been thrown out of the window. But, you see, GenSyn, a major player in the world of pharmaceuticals and biotechnology, is backing them up. It will do _anything_, and I mean anything, to get FDA approval. I don't know why the FDA's even _considering_ giving these people a second chance when the risks are clearly highlighted."

Catherine noticed how irked the Doc looked and she empathized with him. "Was our guy a volunteer for their research?"

"I doubt it, since he was one of the brains behind this whole project. His name was Connor Greenberg, AWOL for the past six months."

Catherine was sure she heard her jaws dropping.

* * *

**Author's Note****: The whole HIV vaccine thing is pure fiction. It's not based on any science journal or ongoing scientific experiment. Any resemblance with actual events is just coincidence. So too is GenSyn a fictional corporation and does not reflect anyone or any company. But it does try to address some issues. My intention isn't political, so hope none was offended. That being said, it's still a _CSI_ Catherine/Sara fanfic ;D  
**


	5. When Greg has a bad day

**Chapter Four**

"Great, now all we need are Hansel and Gretel." Greg said, standing in front of the house painted in different splashes of pinks, reds, blues, yellows, greens, polka dots and zigzag lines.

Sara smirked. "I believe there was an evil witch involved."

"Isn't there always?" Brass muttered.

They made their way across the trimmed lawn in just the perfect shade of green and neatly arranged flowerbeds with buds that resembled candy drops.

A rope hung by the magenta colored door and shooting Sara a side grin, Greg pulled it. Instantly, they heard a nursery rhyme being echoed inside. The door opened and a stern-faced woman appeared, hands on her hips, a smudge of flour on her right cheek and a frown to complete the image.

"How many times do I need to tell you people that I don't want your soap? I'm still using the one you gave me last year!"

"We are not selling soaps." Greg moved back a little.

"Then are you those survey guys? I live a _normal_ life and I have nothing to say!" She proceeded to close the door.

"Ma'am," Brass stepped in, flashing his badge. "We are from the LVPD. We need to ask you some questions."

"LVPD?" The woman's eyes widened. "Is this about Kiddo, my dog? Have you found him?"

Sara shook her head. "No, I'm afraid this is not about your dog. But it is about a missing girl, though."

* * *

"Wow, look, Grissom's soulmates." Greg murmured cheekily, as they stepped out of the candyfloss house. 

Sara frowned at the way the early morning sunrays hit her eyes directly. He got the wrong impression.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Mean what?" She asked, somewhat baffled.

"That of course those bugs are not his soulmates. You are his soulmate. But, you know, Grissom, bugs, they are synonymous…"

"Whoa, hold on." She whipped around, facing him front. "What did you say?"

"That Grissom likes his bugs."

"No, before that. About me and Grissom."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I know that you know I had this crush on you. But it's okay, I don't mind. I mean, maybe, I probably mind a little. But it's Grissom, and he's a nice guy and everything."

"Greg, whatever gave you the idea that Grissom and I are dating?"

He looked confused. "But Catherine said…"

"Catherine? She knows too?"

"Yeah, she said…"

"I can't believe this."

"Sara, it's no biggie. Everybody knows you and Grissom have a thing going on."

"Everybody?" She exclaimed. "And I suppose Catherine was the one who told them."

"Well, not really…"

"How did she know?" Sara cut in.

"I-I never asked." Greg stuttered nervously.

She rubbed her head tiredly. "This is just great."

"I thought you were okay with it. You know, like with us knowing about you and Grissom."

"I don't appreciate my personal life being circulated around as gossip."

"I'm sorry, Sara. We were just happy for you… really."

Without another word, she walked up to the Tahoe. Greg followed her glumly, cursing his own big mouth. He wanted to say something to make it all alright. But when it comes to Sara, he has difficulty figuring out what she thinks. He had already caused too much damage and felt it was wise to just keep his mouth shut.

For much of the drive back to the Crime Lab, Sara seemed deep in thought and responded to his questions in distracted monosyllables. Finally, giving up altogether, they went through the rest of the journey in silence. Once the familiar parking lot came in view, Greg couldn't wait to escape the tension in the car.

* * *

Catherine rested her brow on the coolness of her locker and waited for the throbbing to recede. Getting a warrant for GenSyn was turning out to be a nightmare and until then she was stuck with a DB whose COD was indeterminate and an organism straight out of a Crichton novel. 

She faintly heard noises as people entered and exited the locker room. Her exhaustion overrode common propriety and she didn't even look up to acknowledge them.

Suddenly everything was plunged into a heavy silence. She knew she wasn't alone as she could hear someone breathing. But it seemed as if the person was keen on not announcing their presence. Curiosity made her lean away from her locker, and open her eyes.

Sara looked grim as she collected her coat. Catherine supposed her coworker must have had a shitty case for the shift. She felt somewhat guilty, even though she knew she shouldn't be, and tried to communicate.

"Hey Sara, everything ok?"

Sara didn't turn. "Yeah, perfect."

"You look far from it."

"What are you, a psychic now?"

Catherine couldn't help roll her eyes. "I'm sorry I was concerned."

"Whatever." Sara muttered under her breath before stomping out, leaving the blonde befuddled. She barely avoided colliding with a nervous Greg who was eagerly making his way into the room. He stopped at the expression on Catherine's face and then looked back towards where Sara had walked off.

"Shit, I'm late." He murmured ruefully.

"What?" Catherine was still reeling from the other woman's cold reception.

"I tried to call you, but your phone was off. Sara overtook me. I should have hurried."

"Hurried for what?"

"Believe me, Catherine, I didn't mean to tell her. I didn't know she didn't know. I mean, I thought you guys have already talked about this and she was cool with it."

"Whoa Greg, hold on, I have no idea what you are talking about."

He frowned, puzzled. "I'm talking about the fact that you told me Sara and Grissom have something going on."

Catherine's eyes widened. "You told Sara that?"

"I…" He flushed, aware that his big mouth had betrayed him a second time that day. He wished he could just burrow himself a hole and cower there.

"Greg, why did you tell her?!"

"I-I thought she knew."

"Greg.." Catherine slumped down on the bench. "God, this is so not happening." Her bad day had already gotten worse.

* * *

**Whoa... no updates for so long. Who does that?**

** Apparently, I do. Sorry for the delay. Life and its responsibilities are a torture.**

**Thanks for the R&Rs meanwhile. **


	6. Skeletons in the closet

**Chapter Five**

**Skeletons in the closet?**

Catherine wasn't impressed by the spotless neatness of the GenSyn Labs, nor did she find the gleaming hi-tech machines any source of wonder. As far as she was concerned, Victor Frankenstein's own basement couldn't have been anymore creepier. The place was a perfect blend of modern science and corporate interests. Receptionists and administrative staff looked like they could contend in _America's Next Top Model_. Their bright smiles were in sharp contrast to the unfriendly coolness of the interiors.

She caught Sofia shooting each of the Vegas Barbies a look of amusement. Catherine was, for her part, eager to get this visit done with. She had been plagued with an uncharacteristic headache for two days and the mild chemical odor in the building wasn't helping.

"Detective Curtis and Ms. Willows?" A tall, handsome man in his mid-forties came striding out. He smiled at the brunette on his right. "Thank you, Tracy."

"Hi and you'll be?" Sofia questioned.

"Timothy Heinz." He shook their hands. "Chief Networking Officer of GenSyn."

"Mr. Heinz, as you know, we are here for Dr. Greenberg."

He sighed. "Yes. It is a very unfortunate tragedy. Connor was not only a brilliant scientist he was also a dear friend."

"How dear a friend?" Catherine gave him a grim smile.

"As dear as one could get with Connor." At the blank expressions on the two women, Heinz continued. "You must understand; Connor was very much dedicated to his work and research. Those meant everything to him. He barely socialized."

"Apparently not, since we are told he used to live right here, in the lab." Sofia said.

"That is right. We have special quarters for few of our eminent doctors. Connor was one of them."

"And could we see those quarters?"

At Heinz's hesitation, Sofia procured a warrant and waved it in front of him. He visibly tensed but managed to keep his calm. His voice had a rough edge when he called for one of his gorgeous staff. Catherine and Sofia waited while he whispered instructions at the girl. She nodded, showing no trace of emotion.

"Diane here will assist you to Dr. Greenberg's quarters. Do not hesitate to call me if there's anything more I can do."

* * *

Unlike the designer architecture of the whole location, Connor Greenberg's living arrangement reeked of neglect and disorder. The windows were open; the magazines and newspapers swept the floor under the influence of the strong draft. An unfinished takeout sat by the desk, providing a meal for mold. 

"It would suck if we find Greenberg was after all killed by one of these nasties." Sofia remarked, pushing open the box by the tips of her fingernails.

"No, I don't think so." Catherine said, snapping on her gloves. "No certified medical institute in this country could identify that thing inside him."

"Well, a germ-infested apartment and a crazy scientist. I'd say, what are the odds?"

Catherine smirked, before proceeding towards the bedroom. The bed looked like it hadn't been slept on for quite some time. In contrast to the rest of the house, the sheets were neat and the pillows didn't have a single crease on them. The comforters smelled of nothing but stale detergent.

She pulled down the blinds and then ran the sheets with the UV torch. Nothing fluoresced. If Connor Greenberg had a sex life, it sure wasn't in his bedroom. She rummaged through his closet and shelves. He appeared to be a man who used only what was necessary. His wardrobe was simple and functional. There were no memorabilia from family, friends, or lovers. There wasn't even a photograph. Either this man didn't have time for a personal life or he didn't want to remember one.

He, however, really cherished his work. His notes were plentiful and all stored neatly in expensive leather-bound folders. Catherine couldn't make out the chicken scratch, but she collected them as evidence, nevertheless.

She was in the middle of checking out his bathroom when she heard a knock on the front door followed by a pair of female voices, one of which was Sofia's. She walked back towards the living room. The blonde detective appeared to have her hands full by a rather angry petite young woman.

"Ma'am, you cannot come in here. This place could be a crime scene." Sofia warned.

"What do you mean? I thought you guys found Connor in the park." The woman rasped in a thick, Indian accent.

"Yes, but we believe that whatever killed him could have originated from this building." Catherine stepped in.

"That is impossible! He hasn't shown his face for the past six months."

"As far as we were told."

"Are you accusing GenSyn of something?" The woman advanced menacingly towards Catherine. "We heard that the police were nosing around in our research."

"Investigating." Sofia corrected her, curtly.

"Ma'am, may we ask, who are you?" Catherine said.

"_Doctor_ Reetha Chaudhary."

"Oh, so you were Dr. Greenberg's colleague?"

"Colleagues are those who work with us." She replied haughtily. "Our importance was significant and unrivaled in this lab. We were exclusive to each other."

"Were you involved with him sexually?" Sofia asked.

The woman paled in horror. "No! How could you suggest that? I'm engaged!"

"Well, did you know if _he_ was involved with anyone?"

"No, I don't. We never have water fountain talks, as you people call it."

"Do you have any idea why he left GenSyn?"

"He didn't _leave_ GenSyn and if you knew Connor you would never have suggested it. GenSyn was his life."

"And you knew Dr. Greenberg for how long?"

"We were at Harvard together." Reetha answered. "We were not friends, but we mutually recognized the potential in each other. When we joined GenSyn, it was still in its infant stage of development. You can say that the structure you are standing on is due to our hard work."

Catherine folded her arms. "So, you've been working on this AIDS vaccine ever since?"

"It's not exactly a vaccine. But, yes, this has been our project since we came to GenSyn."

At that moment, Reetha's cellphone buzzed. She excused herself to answer her tiny device.

Catherine tapped Sofia's arm and motioned towards the corner where a TV station stood. They stealthily crouched down and ran their eyes along the smooth timber.

"Blood?" The detective whispered, looking at the dark spatter quite inconspicuous against the rose-colored wood. Catherine swabbed the stain and exposed it to phenol. The soft end of the swab glowed a bright purple.

Sofia quickly looked back at where Reetha was still engaged in her phone conversation. Catherine's keen eyes were roving across the paneled floorboards, searching for any signs of additional blood stains.

"I smell pine cleaner and bleach." Sofia noted, as she sniffed closer to the floor.

"Yeah, he must have used it to clean the blood off. But he probably missed it on the cabinet."

Sofia frowned as she looked up. "Catherine, that's a rather funny-looking furniture, don't you think?"

Catherine followed the direction of her gaze. A chest-like structure stood by the window. An embroidered cloth was thrown over it, with an empty vase resting on top. What was strange about that furniture was the fact that it looked too low to be either a table or a shelf.

They walked up to it and ran their hands across the smooth fabric. "It's warm." Together they removed the cloth and gently tossed it away. It was certainly no furniture, but a standard sized freezer.

"Hey, what are you guys doing?" Reetha's voice cut through their curiosity.

"We were admiring Dr. Greenberg's interesting choice in furnishing." Sofia murmured dryly.

Reetha approached them. "It's a freezer. He's had that since forever. Ice creams are his guilty pleasure."

Catherine popped open the lid. A blast of frozen air gushed out, rendering everything temporarily hazy. As the smoky condensation cleared, a silence descended upon that room, only punctuated by the faint whirring of the unit's motors.

And then Reetha screamed.

A skeleton was buried deep amidst the melting ice crystals.

"Seems like ice creams weren't his only guilty pleasure." Catherine's murmur slid through their shock.

"Catherine, check this out." Sofia gingerly pointed at what looked like a plastic ID card clasped inside a bony fist. She got a tweezer and gently plucked the card out. It was yellow and frayed with age. But the name and picture on it, while faded, was readable.

"Sara Sidle."

* * *


	7. The Food Chain that is GenSyn

**The Food Chain that is GenSyn**

Catherine gaped at the sight, certain that Sofia must be in the same position. The case, which was weird to begin with, had now entered into a completely new dimension of improbability.

"I swear I didn't know anything about this." Reetha was immediately on the defensive.

"Did he have any friends, anyone who visited him?" Sofia asked, tearing her gaze away from the ID with difficulty.

"Not that I know of. Look, am I in trouble? Should I be talking to my attorney or something?"

Catherine looked at her. "That will be a good idea."

* * *

Nick recognized the looks being thrown his way. That was something he dealt with on a regular basis. At first, it grated his nerves. He, being a people pleaser, hated the idea that anyone would regard him with such contempt, that too without any valid reason. With time, he got used to it. With time, he even learnt to channel his empathies towards them. After all, how many people liked having a yellow tape stretched across their workplaces?

Sofia was calmly jotting down notes as she listened to a pair of lab-coat-clad, gel-haired young men. Their wide smiles, unnaturally husky voices, and poor attempts at keeping their shoulders erect were painfully familiar to Nick. Too bad, he thought, that Detective Curtis wasn't going to be impressed.

He walked down the end of the corridor to where the tape marked the crime scene. Gingerly pulling it over him, he stepped into the room. A mixture of old books and sour food greeted his nostrils. Catherine was hunched on her fours, carving a piece of the worn-out carpet.

"You want any help with that?" He asked, snapping on his latex gloves.

"Nope, I've got it. Collect Greenberg's stuff; notes, files, clothes, everything. I didn't get a chance to scour through all of them before we bumped into the Grim Reaper."

"You think the Doc's got more skeletons in his closet?" Nick smirked.

"Can't beat the one we found in his freezer, though."

He found the lack of personal touch in the bedroom disturbing. Even Grissom's townhouse was decorated with his own unique tastes here and there. On the rare occasions that Nick had been on the upper levels of his mentor's house, he had noticed pictures of a woman with striking beauty and personality that is even more impressive. Her grey eyes were very much like Grissom's. Dr. Greenberg, on the other hand, seemed not only married, but related by blood and fate to his work.

Notes were aplenty. Nick recognized many of the chemical nomenclatures and molecular structures from his biochemistry course an era ago. Greenberg obviously didn't believe in using modern technology for his work. He found not a computer anywhere in the room. None of the records were typed even though they were so meticulous in their details. A diagram usually accompanied every paragraph and they had the flair of an artist's. It was going to be interesting reading through them, if only he got around deciphering them.

The academic abundance made up for three large polyethylene bags, and Nick hadn't even begun to rummage through the books that Greenberg kept in cartons under his bed.

Grissom would have loved the man.

* * *

Timothy Heinz rarely got sick. He took his flu shots, went for his regular medical check-ups, hit the gym at least four times a week, ate his greens, and had an array of prescriptions in his cabinet. His job paid very well and allowed him the luxury his blue-collar father had always spat upon. The side-effect of such a job, though, were the fluctuating levels of stress he had to endure.

Being the "communications" face of his company wasn't easy. It required him to constantly "upgrade" his skills at lying. Lying is commonplace and everyone does it. But to polish it into an art was a chore few people could manage.

But no matter how good he became, he was never going to stand up to the challenge that was his boss.

Ignatius Anton was something of a legend in the field of Biotechnology Corporations. There were numerous stories regarding how he had worked his way up from a bellboy to the Forbes 400 List. A Pulitzer-winning author, in fact, was looking to obtain permission from Anton to write an epic biography.

No one, not even Heinz, knew what the real story was behind Anton's colossal rise in the corporate world. But one thing he knew for certain was that much of the man's success was due to his uncanny ability to pick out a lie. He could look a person into the eye and tell if they were BS-ing.

Heinz waited nervously outside Anton's office. It was more like a five-star hotel suite than an office. The army of secretaries conversed with each other in muted tones, their perfume mingling with the expensive air-freshener. Their six-inch heels dug into the plush carpets as they gracefully, but busily, moved to and fro carrying out their boss' orders. Another reason why Heinz loved working there. There was never a dearth of beautiful women for his eyes to feast on.

"Timothy, ah, I've kept you waiting." Heinz snapped into attention as he recognized his employer's voice.

Despite the demigod adulation that surrounded him, Ignatius Anton was quite surprising in looks. Medium-height and the beginning of a pudgy waistline, coupled with the snowy white on his head, eyebrows and beard gave him a Santa Claus-like appearance. Completing the image were warm brown eyes that ended in smiling crinkles.

"No, sir, Mr. Anton." Heinz coughed. "I'm sorry you had to be disturbed from your meeting."

"Oh, it wasn't really a meeting. Come on." Anton beckoned him to follow inside. "It was just Edith, from London. It's her first show at the Cambridge Theatre tomorrow. She's playing Velma."

"_Chicago_'s Velma?"

Anton nodded. "She's so nervous, my girl; so talented in everything, yet so insecure. She always thinks something is going to go wrong, which is why I ask her to talk to me before her performance."

"But she has nothing to worry about. I've seen her performance; it's brilliant. You must be proud of your daughter."

"Do me a favor and tell that to her the next time you meet?" A robust laughter erupted from him. "She won't believe it if she hears it from me."

The image of a curvy young woman dressed in the skimpiest of swimsuits, her tanned skin gleaming from lotion and the seawater, caused a stirring in his loins. He quickly looked away, afraid Anton might read the lust in his eyes.

"Timothy, you hardly come up here. Sometimes I wonder if you are avoiding me." The man teased. "So, what caused this unexpected visit?"

"It's about Dr. Greenberg, sir."

"Connor? Ah, yes, such a sad affair. I was just thinking of honoring a few minutes of silence for him tomorrow. You think two will be enough?"

"The police were at the lab."

"Yes, I heard."

"They found something, sir."

Anton waited.

Then in a rush, and keeping it as far from blame as possible, Heinz related the whole thing to his boss. When he was finished, he found his palms sweating.

"I thought your men searched through the entire apartment." There was no accusation in the man's tone, which made him all the more anxious.

"We did." Heinz said. "We went through his files; read each of them and removed every one of them that was connected to GenSyn. We left the ones he made before he came here. We even removed his diaries, journals, and address books. No one should have found anything incriminating in his possessions."

"Except now they do, a body, no less."

"We had no reason to check the freezer."

"Unfortunately for us, Vegas' finest didn't share your sentiment."

Heinz swallowed. "We can still undo the damage. I mean, the body was found in Greenberg's quarters, therefore he's the likely suspect."

"But he's dead and they can't nail a dead guy, so they'll come after us."

"I'll do my best to handle it."

Anton fixed his eyes upon him, which no longer held the mellow, dreamy look. Instead, it was granite-hard and exactly the kind that lent him his reputation. Heinz was afraid he was going to pee.

"If you could handle it, Mr. Heinz, you wouldn't have been here. You _would_ have handled it. Since you are here, I think it's safe to assume that this is beyond your capabilities." Ignatius Anton stood up, crossing his arms behind his back. "I think it's time I personally look into it. I always paid Connor Greenberg as much attention as I would an annoying fly. Now the matter has gone too far. Dr. Greenberg is not going to ruin GenSyn. I don't care if I have to kill every ounce of that man's identity to see to that."

* * *


	8. The Sunshine Days of School

**The Sunshine Days of School**

Sara nibbled at her sandwich while studying a cold case. Her Missing Persons case turned out to be another instance of adolescent rebellion where the said girl wanted attention for herself. She didn't understand why any teenager would want that. She remembered loving her privacy and anonymity back when she was a kid.

She found herself unable to concentrate on what she was reading, though. The lab had been relatively quiet that night. Warrick had the night off. Greg was practicing for his gun proficiency test. The case Catherine was working on had, apparently, taken a new turn and she had called in Nick. Sara wasn't surprised she wasn't called. If the blonde had her way, she would be reduced to little else but a lab wallpaper.

She told herself it was temporary. She told herself that she couldn't wait until Grissom returned. She had done some introspection and concluded that she did miss the man. If she missed him, then she must also love him, right?

She tried to remember the moments they spent together. They met first in San Francisco where she had been an eager, young graduate student. He was the first one who introduced to the hypocrisy in what she thought was a very noble profession. She had despised him for that, but she had also been drawn to his unique way of explaining crime investigations, which was so much more interesting than textbook theories. It was a classic case of a clash-of-wills that turned to friendship and then affection.

Kind of like her situation with Catherine… except the friendship and affection part.

Her pager beeped and she saw "Willows" blinking in digital font. She stared at the device for a full long minute. She finally noticed the "911" flashing a line below the name.

* * *

Nick and Catherine were crowded around AV Guru, Archie Johnson, when Sara walked into his holy abode. His nimble fingers slid rapidly across the keyboard. Images flickered and moved on a screen larger and clearer than the latest HD Plasma TV in the market. Sara recognized the looks of concentration on her coworker's faces. But she found her eyes straying towards the older woman. Catherine was frowning thoughtfully. Her slender frame leant towards where Archie sat and her arm was casually propped against his shoulder.

Catherine's sexuality followed her like a cloud, flirting with the senses of anyone who happened to be in the vicinity. It had even proven effective while interviewing the meanest of suspects. It was easy for most criminals to shrug off police torture, but not a beautiful woman's charms.

While much of Sara's initial impressions about Catherine Willows had changed, this one had only gotten stronger over the years.

"Can you enhance the date, Arch?" Nick pointed at the screen.

The glass panel illuminated as Archie upped the Brightness and Contrast Levels. What looked like a blob of distorted mass slowly sharpened under the Lab's Graphics Editing Software. As the image cleared, Sara could distinctly see the worn-off edges, the greasy smudges on the plastic film and the yellowed paper underneath it. A passport-sized photo dominated one side of the image, while the other held printed and handwritten ink.

"That's an '_I'_ right there." Catherine squinted. "And, this looks like a '_ness'_."

"Sunshine was so cute." Nick grinned.

All three jumped when they heard a gasp behind them. Catherine was the first to notice Sara. The brunette's trademark dark attire effectively camouflaged her in the shadowy spaces of the AV Lab.

"Sara, how long have you been standing here?"

Sara didn't hear anything of what Catherine or the others said. The only sounds in her head were those of years ago, of memories that she had locked away into the far reaches of her mind. She recognized the girl on the screen; the dark hair cut short, the spattering of freckles and the little gap-toothed smile. She recognized the wide brown eyes, concentrating on the camera while trying hard not to burst into a laugh. She could even see the blue sweater she wore that day; a sweater she still had. She didn't have to read them to know that "IVERNESS ELEMENTARY SCHOOL" was stamped over the picture.

"Sara, are you still with us?" Nick attempted to joke, but he couldn't keep the concern out of his voice.

"Where did you find this?" Sara whispered.

Catherine walked up to her. "We came across it during our investigation." She reached out and tentatively touched Sara's arm. "Are you okay?" She realized, with a shock, that Sara was shivering. Their eyes met. She had never seen them so haunted before.

"I…Cath… I… " Abruptly, the woman moved away. "Excuse me."

"What the hell was that?" Archie asked, bewildered.

"I don't know." Her blue eyes following Sara's urgent form across the corridor.

* * *

**_June 5, 1987_****_Terra_** **_Linda_****_High School, San Rafael, CA_**

"_And the Award for Highest Cumulative Grade Average goes to Miss Sara Sidle."_

_Sara blushed as the entire congregation erupted into applause. She awkwardly made her way towards the stage and up to where her Principal, Mr. Derek Walsh, was waiting with her certificate. She tried not to look at anyone once she was up on the podium. She could feel every eye on her and it made her knees wobble. _

"_Congratulations, Sara. Very well done." Mr. Walsh's usual sternness was replaced by a congenial smile. She wasn't aware of what she did, but she could only hope she gave a satisfactory 'thank you' and a confident smile of her own. _

"_Way to go, Sidle!! Yeah! Yay!" A bunch of boys she recognized, but had never associated with, cheered along with passing a few wolf whistles. She could feel her face heating up. _

_She even caught few scornful looks directed her way. Going back to her seat, she heard the stray, "Like we didn't know she was going to win the Biggest Nerd of the Year award" accompanied by giggles. _

_With a few more speeches, the Principal and few notable teachers closed the ceremony. The students were more than relieved to, finally, get to the hat-throwing part. A wild uproar swept the crowd and the sky was suddenly dotted with blue mortarboards pumped by eager teenagers into the air. They had officially graduated as a High School student. _

_Sara silently watched as everyone hugged and kissed each other. She hardly knew most of them, having only been in the school for a year. _

"_Hey Sara, we've graduated!" Amy Li beamed._

_Sara smiled and accepted the hug the girl gave her. _

"_Too bad we are going to different colleges. I wish I was going to Harvard with you, but I didn't get a full scholarship like you, genius."_

_She shook her head in exasperation. She had met Amy at Math Seminar, the only club she had joined. Amy was smart, friendly, and very modest: a rare combination. She was also very insecure, due mostly in part to the constant bullying she suffered from the popular folk in school. They both felt, in a sense, like outsiders sometimes, and this forged a kinship between the two girls. It was truly sad that they were not going to the same college. Sara could do with a friend like Amy by her side._

"_Good job on the award, though, I already knew it was yours. And I'm sure you brought your lucky charm along. You say it helps you and it actually does! Oh and you know, Mike Spinnelli was sitting beside me. Got a perfect excuse to rub something to his face."_

_Sara half-listened to Amy as her attention strayed towards the east end of the school grounds.__Unlike the rest of the school right then, that area was relatively deserted, save for a few bored teachers. _

"_Amy, could you just excuse me for a minute?" She turned towards her friend apologetically. "I'll be right back."_

_The east wing contained much of the administrative offices. Blinds were pulled across the windows, shielding any view inside. A flat roof jutted out, providing a shed against the sun's rays. Sara recognized one of the people standing underneath it. _

_Vanessa Munoz was a tall, slim woman of African and Spanish descent._ _Her close-cropped hair, beige suit, and high-heeled sandals gave her a business-like appearance. But her caramel eyes were friendly and smiling_

"_Vanessa, what are you doing here?" Sara jogged up to the woman._

"_Congratulations on the award, Sara. It's very impressive."_

"_Thanks." Sara crossed her arms. "Did you catch the entire ceremony?"_

"_Most of it."__Vanessa tilted her head. "But that's not the only reason I'm here."_

"_I figured." Sara looked her straight into the eye. "Is she alright?"_

"_Would you like to get a milkshake? There's an ice cream parlor not far from here."_

_Sara shrugged. It didn't matter where or how she heard it. She couldn't imagine Vanessa having anything good to report about Laura Sidle. _

* * *

**Yes, Sara is somewhat of a prodigy, graduating at the age of sixteen. I wish I'd been like that.**_  
_


	9. Blast to the Past

**Blast to the Past**

Catherine didn't have much time. Already GenSyn was fortifying themselves with attorneys from one of the nation's top law firms and she didn't relish being sent through endless series of "Please hold on"s.

She knew where she'd find Sara. The break room was usually too occupied and too noisy. There was a strict policy against staying inside the labs any longer than was necessary. There was a lounge, but that was nobody's favorite place.

The only time that the locker room experienced commotion was during the changes in shifts. On other occasions, it was almost as silent as the Pathology Wing.

Sara was seated on one of the long metal benches. Her fingers laced together, elbows resting on knees. Her head was bowed, hair tumbling down like a dark veil to shroud her face.

Catherine was lingered a few distances away, out of sight. She had known where to find Sara. She was the _de facto_ supervisor, and she knew she should be the one to talk to Sara. But, Nick had already volunteered to do the asking, and Catherine had let him. It was better, she thought. Sara would probably never open up to her, anyway.

* * *

"I'm sorry for running away like that." Sara whispered. 

"You recognized it." Nick's voice was soft.

"I was there from 1976 to 1980. The longest I've ever spent in any school. You know, I always run out of spaces while filling out my past schools." She smiled feebly.

"Why did they issue you a card?" He slowly sat beside her, careful not to intrude on her space.

"All kids had one. There was a case with a pedophile in Marin County and schools restricted entry to outsiders. Only those who carried the admit card for their kids were allowed access. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best they could come up with."

"Do you remember how you lost your admit card, Sara?"

Nick noticed how her muscles went rigid. "My brother used to drop me off in the morning and then pick me up. He had the admit card. He died… he was shot."

The room filled with a grave silence. Nick was speechless, a lump settling in his throat and choking off all words. He had never known Sara had a brother. Now that he thought about it, he hardly knew anything about her personal life. Had it not been for Greg's big mouth, he would have never guessed she liked Grissom.

"Do you know Connor Greenberg?" He moved back to the important questions, mostly to distract Sara from her bad memories.

"Outside of a scientific journal, no."

"How about your parents, do you think they knew him?"

Sara gave a dry smile. "My parents and he didn't exactly move in the same circles."

Nick couldn't think of anything more to ask, so he stood up. "I have to meet Doc in a few. If you remember anything…"

She nodded, but didn't look at him. She hadn't lied, but she hadn't told Nick everything. In fact, she had barely scratched the truth. A very tiny portion of her life was on file; more details could be found by anyone with enough resources and the know-how to search through the various government databases. But there were still some things no one knew or would ever know. It had taken her years to open up to Grissom – the closest person in her life right then – and even he got just the tip of the iceberg.

She waited until the sound of his boots faded away to look at the mirror hung on the door of her locker. She saw nothing but the reflection of a scared, little eight-year-old child.

* * *

_**June 5, 1987, Lola's Pizza and Ice Cream**_

_Sara stared out through the dusty glass window at an elderly lady and her poodle. The strawberry shake lay untouched in front of her, wet and condensing in the summer heat. _

"_So, she tried to escape again?" She asked, still looking out._

_Vanessa nodded. _

"_Why? Why does she do that to herself? She knows she can't run. She only hurts herself. Doesn't she care that she hurts herself?" Anguish burnt her throat._

"_She wants to see you, Sara."_

"_I don't know if I can."_

"_She is your mother."_

"_You know, you could get in trouble with Child Services for trying to blackmail me emotionally?" Sara teased, but there was a seriousness in her tone._

"_Yes, I know, and I know that they only want to protect you, which is good. But, do you honestly think your mother is a threat to you?"_

"_I'm not afraid of seeing her; I just can't see her… like that."_

"_She wants just one visit, Sara, just one visit. If she sees that you are okay, she'll spend the rest of her sentence in peace."_

"_Tell her I'm fine, Vanessa. Tell her I got admitted to Harvard."_

"_I did and she won't believe me. She won't believe anyone until she sees you for herself. She has lost faith in the system, Sara."_

_Sara finally turned her head. She wanted to listen to Vanessa. She wanted to visit her mother. She was **dying** to visit her mother. But, she knew that, one visit, it would only take one visit to dismantle her. _

"_I… can't."_

* * *

Catherine was already at the autopsy room by the time Nick arrived there. They exchanged a brief look through which he told her that he had gotten some information. The harsh fluorescent rays from the overhead lamps were focused on their skeleton and gave it an almost supernatural glow. The other steel table was already occupied; an overweight teen, her pale skin bulged by the McDonalds and KFCs of an overfed nation. 

"I could make a guess." Doc Robbins said. "But I'm not really the person you should be talking to."

"We need an anthropologist." Catherine understood.

"Yes, and you've got yourself one." A voice spoke from behind them.

Teri Miller hadn't really changed since the last time they saw her, which was over four years ago. She was still impeccably dressed as always, slacks that snuggled against her trim legs and a starch-white lab coat over a turtleneck sweater. Catherine's expert eyes admired the quality, and price, of the wool. However, the grey eyes no longer held the glint that used to give it a mischievous edge. Hard lines had formed along the mouth, probably from not having smiled in a long while. Nick wondered if the strain of a job that only dealt with the dead had caught up to her.

She gave each of them a polite but brief smile. She clearly didn't want to waste time on pleasantries.

"Your guy was never buried. The lack of compost and inorganic soil points to that." She said, sweeping her hands over the body. "However, decomposition had obviously occurred, so the body hadn't been in the freezer since the time of death. Look at these." With her pinkie finger, she pointed towards what looked like a layer of crusts embedded within the ribs. "These are exoskeletons. Factoring the insects and the cracks on the bones brought about by the freezer, we could get a rough estimate of how long ago the guy died."

"Bugs, uh, that will be Grissom's area of expertise." Nick grimaced.

Catherine noticed a dark look cross the woman's face, only to be quickly gone.

"Yes, but I believe he's not here." Teri spoke impassively.

"Yeah." The Texan sighed. "So, our guy's a guy?"

"Yes, the pelvic bones are narrow. Definitely male." She leaned forward and, with forceps, gestured towards where the rib bones met the thicker sternum. "You see the jagged edges here? By estimate, I would say the person was at least over twenty five at the time of death."

"Do you think you can get a face out of this?" Catherine asked.

A slow smile curved across Teri's lips, reminding all of them once again of her attractiveness. "I _know_ I can get a face out of this."

* * *

**All of u still reading this are wonderful folks! Forget my muse, you guys are my inspiration :D**

**Ok, now that we've gotten the cheesiness aside, I just wanted to say that this story will have a slightly, uh, different take to Sara's past. As for Teri Miller, I do like her character, but she won't stay for long, and there won't be any G/T in here.**


	10. At the Line of Control

**At the Line of Control**

Normally, Sara would be mouthing a curse or two at the inconsiderate motorists of morning rush hour. That day, however, she was too distracted to notice that a speeding Lexus had nearly knocked off her driver's side rearview. The cars ahead blended into the asphalt as she wandered away in her thoughts. Even a few impatient horns didn't shake her out of her trance. It wasn't everyday that someone got to face the demons they had locked away years ago.

Despite her distracted state, she drove like an automaton all the way to the apartment complex she lived in. The tree-lined driveway extended to an underground garage. A few luxury cars passed by her. Even though this wasn't exactly a high-end locality, most of the residents were single like her. Their status allowed them the freedom to be extravagant.

Like her, most didn't bother with the usual friendly greetings that people with families were likely to throw. Never-ending ambition, heartbreaks and the gradual degradation of moral values had jaded her generation enough to not bother with false friendliness.

Her penthouse apartment was the smallest in that floor. But, she didn't mind. She hardly ever spent time there, or even brought anyone to spend time with her.

The blinds hung thickly against the French doors leading to her balcony. The room was dark enough for an uninterrupted six-hours sleep. But, despite her body clock's routine, she didn't feel tired enough to want a sleep. Besides, her mind was loaded with thoughts, and she couldn't think of a worse position than to lie awake in her bed, staring at her bare ceiling.

She walked into her balcony and sat down on a teak armchair lying in wait for her. In the harshness of the morning and without the glittering neon to display, Las Vegas looked every bit as the other cities – dirty and insignificant. She caught the shimmer of the desert in the horizon and wondered, not for the first time, how someone had the foresight to build a gambling Mecca in the middle of arid Nevada.

* * *

Catherine couldn't sleep either. She should have gone along with the guys for breakfast. But she had pretended exhaustion and declined. Now, she felt alone and worried. 

After the session with Doc Robbins, Nick had told her what he had learnt from Sara. It wasn't much, but it was enough to pique both her curiosity and concern.

She stared at her phone; part of her mind assuring her that it was the right thing to do and the other part nervous of actually doing it.

"Oh, c'mon, get a grip." She spat at herself. "What's the worse that can happen, Sara giving you one of her cold rebuffs? Big deal. It won't be the first time. Besides, you do what you have to do. Whether or not she accepts your help is her problem."

Clearing away anymore thoughts, she picked up the phone and punched in the speed dial for Sara. It was #6.

She closed her eyes as she heard the ringing on the other end.

* * *

Sara was none-too-pleased when her phone, still tucked inside her jacket pocket, began to vibrate. She briefly wondered if she should ignore it. Then a thought struck her that it might be the lab. There was hardly anyone else who knew her number or would even call her. 

"Sidle."

"Sara, it's Catherine."

"Catherine? Is this about a case?"

A slight pause at the other end before Catherine spoke, "No, I'm not calling you for work. I was, actually, thinking if we could have lunch together?"

Sara blinked, several times. It took her a couple of seconds to gather her wits, during which an uncomfortable Catherine called out her name to see if she was still there.

"Lunch? Us?"

"Yeah… if you don't have other plans, of course."

_Other plans?_ Sara could have laughed. "No, I don't have other plans."

"So, will eleven be okay?'

"I, uh, yeah… yeah, eleven will be fine."

* * *

Catherine must be a connoisseur with restaurants, Sara knew. With the kind of history - and connections - the blonde has, there was hardly any doubt that she knew Vegas like the back of her hand. So, she wasn't surprised that she knew exactly what restaurant to pick for which kind of occasion. An exclusively vegetarian or so the sign said outside specializing in authentic Indian cuisine. 

She noticed Catherine almost at the same instance that the woman saw her. Weaving her way through the empty tables, she walked towards the corner booth.

"Hey."

"Hope you didn't have trouble finding this place?"

Sara shrugged. "I got myself a map when I first came here. I still haven't thrown it away."

A waiter arrived with two tall glasses of a milky white liquid with the sweet aroma of a rose.

"It's been a while since we, you and me, have got together like this." Catherine began.

"Yeah, years, in fact."

She let the blunt remark pass. "Well, we should do this more often."

Sara lifted eyebrows . "The only reason we are here is because you want to know why I acted that way in the lab."

Catherine nodded. "Yes, that is it. But that's not the only reason."

They sat in silence, while the waiter served three silver plates laden with steaming food emanating a distinctly strong smell that tingled her nose.

When he was gone, Sara looked up and met her colleague's gaze. "I talked to Nick. I don't know what else is there for me to tell."

"Sara, it's not just about the case."

A beat passed. The two women sized the situation and each other up. Finally, Catherine continued, "I wanted you to know that I only told Greg about you and Grissom because I thought you had already told him yourself."

"Who I date is none of anybody's business nor do I like it to be discussed." Sara snapped.

"No, I understand. It was wrong of me to start the office gossip about you two."

Sara didn't think she heard right. _Was Catherine actually apologizing?_

"H-how did you know in the first place? Did Grissom…"

"No, he never told me anything." Catherine forked an eggplant into her mouth. "That night, after Brass woke up in the hospital, I saw you get into Grissom's van. I made assumptions."

"Oh." _Doesn't she always?_ – Sara thought.

"It's not a big deal, Sara. The fact that Ecklie hasn't yet bared his fangs is an indication that he's not going to be a problem. I think we all know Grissom too well. He won't let anything cloud his objectivity when it comes to work."

Even though she knew Catherine was dead-on about Grissom, she couldn't help feel the woman was trying to taunt. It brought her to the defensive. "And I will never ask him to. Contrary to what all of you think, I did not go after Grissom to get myself an easy access to the top."

Catherine arched an eyebrow. "That is not what I think."

"Don't you, Catherine? Grissom's little pet, his prodigy, the ambitious loner Sara who is sleeping with her boss because she wants to climb the ranks."

The other woman shook her head. "I can't say whom you have a lower opinion of, Sara; me, or yourself."

"You have always treated me as an unwanted, third-class citizen, Catherine. Don't play the dumb card."

"I thought we were over that a long time ago. It was the Holly Gribbs' case, and…"

"And I was investigating Warrick, yeah, yeah, you've told me that before."

"And you obviously don't believe me."

"Your attitude hasn't changed all that much since then. How do you expect me to believe you?"

"Well, you have committed your share too. Challenging my authority, having no consideration for my seniority, what the hell was all that?"

"I don't suck up to anyone. I call a spade and a diamond as I see it. I'm sorry that it offends some people to learn the truth."

"I never asked you to _suck up_ to me, Sara. But, when you start disrespecting me in front of everyone, that's when I have a problem."

"We have already talked about this, and I still hold that, while my intention wasn't to insult you, I don't regret what I did. So, let's leave it at that."

Catherine took a moment to bite back her frustration and finally let loose a sigh. "You are right. Let's not get into a fight, not in the middle of an Indian restaurant."

Despite herself, Sara let slip a sardonic chuckle. "We could always blame it on their spices. I swear I can feel my blood temperature rise."

The women mutually got into a discussion about a high-profile case they had worked on a few months ago. Trial was in a month and the celebrity's lawyers were fighting tooth, nail, and bare hands for their client. The Las Vegas Crime Lab was going to be have a grueling court session.

They didn't veer towards personal topics again that afternoon. Maybe they both thought that it was better to let bygones be bygones and tolerate each other as coworkers. But, most likely, they both realized that a _faux_ resolution was a futile effort to forge a temporary calm before the next storm hits.

* * *


	11. I90

**Chapter Ten**

**I-90**

Modern technology had greatly aided in the field of forensic anthropology. With the latest digital simulators, reality could be transformed into pixels and digits. Twenty-one tissue depth markers transmitted the skull's structure across to the software that Teri had loaded onto the computer. Green grid lines stretched and flickered as the software confirmed that the information was enough for it to work with. The bottom left corner flashed a series of blueprints that would closely match the skull. Teri clicked on one. Even though the software had an extensive databank, she didn't consult it. The long and narrow structure, the midline protruding to form a boat-like shape along with the cheekbones – her educated assumption would be Caucasian descent.

Based on Doc Robbins' findings of hair samples on the skull, the man had been dark-haired. For the sake of convenience, she chose dark eyes. Taking into account the assumed age, she modulated the skin folds accordingly. It took about a minute for the computer to take the inputs and scan an image on the screen.

She had a face to show the CSIs.

* * *

Catherine flipped close her phone with an exasperated sigh. Lindsey wanted to go out with her friends and, rebellious that she was, she didn't take a "No, you can't" very well. Catherine had to alternate between concerned explanations and stern threats of grounding to, finally, win the tiny little battle with her daughter. But, this battle, she knew, was likely to be repeated in the next couple of days. It was a regular occurrence now.

If being a mother is hard, being a mother of a teenager is akin to climbing the Andes.

She helped herself to the coffee pot. The brown liquid that poured out of the snout

looked far from appetizing, but at least, Catherine sniffed, it was fresh and it helped restore some of her strength.

"Cath." A tall, handsome CSI walked in, wearing his trademark smirk.

"Rick! I thought you weren't coming back until Thursday."

"Yeah, what can I say, I missed Ecklie."

She grinned back. "I'm sure he'll be glad to know that."

"Yeah, speaking of Ecklie, I gotta go see him." The look on his face clearly showing his displeasure at the idea. "Have you heard from Grissom?"

Catherine shook her head and took a sip of the distasteful brew.

"Do you think he'd be back?"

She looked up. "Why won't he?"

"C'mon Cath, you've known him what, twenty years? How many times has he taken such a long vacation?" He leant against the table, crossing his arms. "Did you know he's been gettin' teaching offers?"

"He's a CSI, Warrick. It's who he is. I don't think he would abandon that."

"Yeah, but I think this job gets to the best of us."

Before Catherine had a chance to ponder over Warrick's sudden insight, her pager sounded. Nick's 'Teri's ready' flashed on her screen.

"Sorry, Warrick, gotta take this."

He raised his hands. "Lemme not keep you."

On her way out, she couldn't help noticing that his left ring finger was empty.

* * *

Year by year, everything seemed to be getting smaller. There was a time when phones were a large metal box with wires thick as ropes and a handset that weighed as much as a dumbbell. Now phones were getting flatter, tinier, and compact with almost every other technological invention – videos, music, messenger, calendar, and camera – that there is. The first computers would have easily spanned a 100 by 100 ft room. Now, people carried them along in their back pocket. Keeping that in mind, it was beyond imagination how much information – and potential – was stored in the computer labs of the HQ.

"I'll run the face against the missing person's files, see if anything pops up." Nick was saying. "These cold cases, man, I hate them. And you know what's the absolutely sad part? Doesn't matter how much time passes, some of these families still have hope."

"For some of these families, hope's all they have, Nick." Teri murmured.

"Hey guys." Catherine walked in. "You got a face, Teri?"

Teri nodded, sliding back the chair a little to move away from the monitor.

She was watching the CSI's face when she caught a blur of movement downwards. The vision was too quick, but the sound took a while, and by then she knew what had happened.

It wasn't until a loud crash boomed into her ears that Catherine realized she had dropped her coffee mug.

Nick and Teri sprang to their feet simultaneously, shock and concern written on their faces.

"Cath, what's wrong?"

"Catherine, are you alright?"

"I-Is this the man? Is this the face you got, Teri?" Catherine's voice was shaking as a thin branch caught in a tornado.

"Yeah." Teri said, looking at the blonde, then at Nick, and back to her. "I may be wrong on one or two features, depending on how accurate we are in our analysis of age, but it's as close as we can come to getting an image of what he looks like."

"Catherine?" Nick gently touched her upper arm. "Do you recognize this man?"

"Walter Lansing Jr Pickerton, called himself Lan 'da' Man." Her eyes hardened. "I knew him, alright."

* * *

"We dated, briefly, when I was in my teens."

Nick and Warrick were alone with Catherine in her office. None of them knew how this recent development would affect the case, the least of not being whether Catherine would be allowed to continue supervising it.

"So, how briefly was briefly?" Nick asked.

"Until I caught him with this woman, Janice, then wife of Harold Barclay."

"Barclay? Of the record label?" Warrick frowned.

"The same. Lan thought he could use the missus as a direct flight into a contract with Barclay."

"What do you know about the guy?"

"Wealthy family, old money, practically owned the town where I grew up. Lan was the only son, the heir. Girls he hooked up with were treated like queens until he swatted them away after moving on. Didn't stop the female population of the town from loving him, though."

Warrick and Nick exchanged glances. Catherine's relationships – and the various forms in which it failed – were no secret to the lab. It was one of the most active topics of discussions among the younger lab rats. As soon as one of them caught the faintest whiff of a new guy, bets that would amaze even Warrick were placed on how long the affair would last and what would cause the rift. They were caught between curiosity about the reason this time and their respect for Catherine's privacy.

"Anyway," She continued. "He wanted to be the big name in the big city. I moved out with him. We traveled much of the West Coast, seeking opportunities, doing little gigs. It went on for about a year."

Nick scratched the coarse stubble on his head. "So, how does this all connect to Sara?"

Catherine blinked. She was so far back into the past that she had, for a moment, forgotten about the matter on hand.

"I don't know." She finally managed to say.

* * *


	12. Blood and Ties

_**Blood and Ties**_

Bodies moved in sync to the DJ's beats. Sweat, alcohol and perfume wafted together in a heady mixture, surrounding the dancers. Lights pulsated sporadically, focusing on one area for a second, before moving on. A group of college students was huddled together, passing lewd remarks at any pair of legs in a skirt.

Sara popped two macadamia nuts into her mouth and then washed them down with beer. She hated the noise. The way music and a variety of human voices mixed to form an ear-deafening noise didn't appeal to her. But, today she was thankful for the way the sound waves rushed to her brain, blocking away all other thoughts. She needed the distraction, the liquor and, if she was lucky, someone to hook up with. Though, she couldn't quite remember the last time she had met and slept with someone from a club.

She brought the bottle close to her lips only to get the last two drops of beer. Sighing, she motioned towards the bartender.

"This is your third."

"Thanks, I can count, Greggo."

He gave her a skeptical look.

"I know what you're thinking. It's my day off and I'm indulging. That's all."

"You sure?"

"I don't have a problem with drinking, never have." She accepted another Bud from a young woman who looked barely out of high school. "The problem is me, alright? I just, sometimes, need to escape it all."

"I can certainly understand that."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Greg had changed a lot since she first met him. Yes, his goofiness was very much his constant exterior, but underneath it, she knew, he had seen and experienced too much to remain unjaded.

"I never told them everything." She finally said after some pause.

"You should."

"I know, but I don't see how it will help with the case."

"Maybe not, but that's not the issue, is it?" He touched her lightly. "You don't trust Catherine?"

"It's not about trust, Greg."

"Hm, is it because you don't like her?"

She gave a short laugh. "Catherine gets on my nerves sometimes, but I won't really say I don't like her. Though, that's not it either."

"Then talk to me."

"I would have, if I could."

"And Grissom... he knows, right?"

"Not everything."

They lapsed into a silence filled only with the thumping rhythms from the mixer.

Sara let her gaze rove idly around. Old couples broke off; new couples were made, on the dance floor. She spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Raven black hair, hands shamelessly groping, and a smile that had sleaze written all over it, Adam Novak was toying with his latest hunt. A lithe blonde had her arms snaked around him and she turned…

Sara gasped and sputtered out her beverage.

"What's wrong?" Greg looked concernedly at her blanched face.

"For a moment, I…" She broke off. She saw Novak whispering something into the blonde's ear causing her to laugh. Then they linked their fingers together and moved away from the dance floor, mingling into the darkness.

"You okay?" Greg handed her a tissue.

"Yeah." She mumbled, wiping her chin. "I think I need to get out of here."

He straightened, but she laid a hand on his arm. "No, you finish your drink. I'll be right out."

She pushed her way towards the exit. The blast of cold air after the perspiring humidity inside was like a shock to her face and instinctively she curled her fingers into a ball. She wasn't alone. She could see the beginnings of a fistfight among a party of five teenagers. In the parking lot, the air was thick with the moans of making out. There were some, like her, alone and lost in the potent combination of boozing and thinking.

Her boots scraped against the granite as she stepped towards her car. The effects of her beer were beginning to fog her mind and she felt herself wobble once or twice. It was a good thing she decided to have Greg with her. Driving in such a condition would be highly unwise, even for her.

For a moment, she thought she saw someone by her bulky Tahoe. She quickly dismissed it as her inebriated mind seeing things in shadows. But her ears pricked as they caught the unmistakable scuffle of shoes and the subtle closing of the driver's side door.

"Hey! Who's there?"

Silence. Sara knew the kind. Whoever was there would be motionless, not trusting even a breath to not give him away. She reached up to her belt and was relieved to find the Colt. She carefully unfastened the clip, keeping her fingers snaked around the piece and her senses sharp.

She walked towards the back. "I have a weapon. Show yourself."

Silence again.

"It's the LVPD." Sara wished she could keep her voice steady. She heard the alcohol blurring its edges. "I'm coming around."

She saw him. Her vision captured a movement, quick and closing in, but her mind failed to register it in time. A solid punch landed somewhere below her ribs, knocking her breathless with the unexpected pain. Knowing he had overpowered her, he shoved her hard, causing her to stagger.

Several years of training, however, kicked in. Adrenaline shot through her veins like ice, propelling her muscles into action, and temporarily pushing the pain into the background. She lunged at his escaping figure and managed to claw a significant wound on his neck. He screamed and pried her fingers away. She aimed the butt of her gun towards his head, but he was too big and too quick for her. Whirling around, he grabbed her by the elbow and twisted it. Sara could only marvel at how she didn't cry out from the burning ache it caused. With her better hand, she clutched his shirt to prevent herself from collapsing on the ground. Their faces came close by inches. She knew she was going to die. She had seen him and he would not risk that. Their eyes met and she stared back defiantly.

Then suddenly, he moved away. Without sparing her another glance, he ran.

* * *

Catherine removed her glasses and rubbed her bleary eyes. She had spent a non-interrupted four hours by the computer and already it felt like her eyesight had deteriorated by several degrees. Not for the first time, she marveled at Archie Johnson. 

The chore, however, did not go waste. She had found an incredibly vast repertoire of information about the Pickertons on the Internet, more than she had personally known. Back home, the Pickertons had made their money in the food and dairy business. But, they had also been smart investors when it came to what was the market's latest infatuation, including the Dot-com companies during the late '90s and the biotech firms in this century. Despite that, she couldn't find anything that linked the Pickertons to GenSyn or Connor Greenberg. If they were investing in the pharmaceutical, it was a secret.

She looked up as Nick walked in. "Catherine, the DNA results are in. Thirteen markers were similar with the sample Mr. Pickerton provided. It's Lan."

Catherine sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Nick gave her a sympathetic look. "Cath… if you want… I could, you know, tell him."

She shook her head. "No, I think he should hear it from me."

* * *

Sara winced as Greg gingerly touched her arm. 

His eyebrows shot up. "You're lucky nothing's broken, you know?"

"It has nothing to do with luck. The perp didn't want murder or battery on his head."

"You might still need someone to look it over for you."

"I've experienced worse." She countered. "I took self defense lessons back in Frisco. Some of the guys there were nastier. It's nothing that won't go away after a coupla' painkillers."

"Do you always have to do this, Sara?"

"Do what?"

"This." He sighed, pointing towards her bruises. "This I'm-a-tough-girl drill. Why didn't you just yell for security or something? No, you had to go and take that guy on your own."

"Look who's talking." She smirked at him. "Who was it who went and challenged a whole gang beating up a man?"

Unconsciously, his hands rubbed the underside of his cheek where he still had scars from that night. "Yeah and look where that got me."

Sara leant back against her couch. "Don't tell anyone, Greg, please?"

"Sara!"

"It's no big deal. He was a thug, trying to rob my car and I surprised him. Chances are, we won't even be able to catch the guy."

"But you are a CSI. He attacked someone from the police department. That _is_ a big deal!"

"Greg, please?"

He gave her a somber look. "I don't like it, Sara. You, of all people, should know that not reporting a robbery is basically encouraging it."

"I checked my car. Nothing was missing. I didn't even get to see him all that well. I mean, we don't have anything to go on. To top it all, the entire lab will spend the next week or so mothering me." She closed her eyes.

Whatever Greg said in protest began to fade as her consciousness drifted out. Her attacker's face was the last image in her mind before she fell asleep.

* * *

Lansing Senior's weather-beaten face and the rancher's gait contrasted with his Armani suit. It was only the solemn expression that matched the drab color of his clothes. He instantly stood up when he saw her enter. He had aged considerably since she last saw him, which was nearly thirty years ago. But those blue eyes still held the ruthlessness she remembered fearing back then. 

"Mr. Pickerton." She clasped her hands in front. "DNA results have verified that it's Lan." She watched him shut his eyes and take a deep breath. "I'm very sorry."

"This is a shock." He mumbled.

"How come no one reported him missing for all these years?"

"Missing?" He narrowed his gaze. "We didn't think he was missing. He ran away, from home, with you, remember?"

"And you didn't expect him to be back?"

"We figured once the money in his pockets and the thrill in his mind ran out, he'll be back." Pickerton's lips thinned. "But when he didn't… we didn't have much of a choice but to accept it."

Catherine nodded imperceptibly.

"You." He stared straight into her eyes. "Do you know what happened to him?"

"Not yet, but we'll find out." She paused, reading the unspoken question on his face, and continued. "Lan and I broke up a few months after we left Bozeman. I didn't know anything until two days back."

He removed his hat, exposing the thinning silver on his head. "My only son. Just when I think it's bad enough that he's probably freezin' his ass in some dump somewhere-" With his thumb, he rubbed his temples. "Still haven't told his mother. If there's nothin' else, I'd like to go back to my hotel and give her a call."

"Sure, Mr. Pickerton. There's something, though. It might be better for you to stay in town a few more days. You may have to fill out some forms. And, also," Catherine waited until he looked back at her; "Lan's body is connected to an ongoing investigation. The coroner won't be able to release it as of yet."

Pickerton shrugged. "You just got bones, right? That's not my son, anyway. You can keep them."

* * *

**A/N: I hated being away from this story for so long. And I know you guys hate me for being away from this story for so long. So, let us kiss and makeup. Thank u for all the reviews and support, since then.  
**

* * *


	13. Shift and Shuffle

_**Shift and Shuffle**_

"Connor was a gifted student." Professor Lamden said. "He had a passion for the genetic sciences that I haven't seen in anyone of his generation. In his very first year, he would stay back in labs and talk with his TAs. By the third year, he had learnt enough to become one. He wrote his graduate thesis on the interaction of embryonic stem cells with the immune system. It was innovative and well-informed. We saw the potential he had for a major breakthrough, namely of introducing antibodies without the immune system attacking it."

Catherine leant back. "So, GenSyn saw this potential and hired him?"

"He did a summer internship at GenSyn. At that time, GenSyn was just an upcoming entity. Biotechnology wasn't as big as it is today. But Connor and GenSyn formed an astute business partnership: a brilliant scientist and a visionary corporation."

"You were close to Connor. Were you aware of any tension between him and GenSyn?"

Professor Lamden hoisted himself with great effort from his chair. His gut ceded to gravity and fell heavily in front of him. Catherine watched him walk to his mantelshelf and toy with an antique carved oak clock.

"Connor was a genius and the company basically thrived on his success in introducing agents inside the body that could battle malignant cells, like tumors and HIV-infected T-cells. They were nothing without him, and he knew that. And he also knew that while he had the fame and the repute, it wasn't quite as comforting as the billions of revenue that his work was bringing to the company. They kept him in relative luxury, but it was a meager ounce from a large reservoir of profit."

"So, he began to ask for his share?" Catherine linked her fingers together.

"Connor was never materialistic. He didn't care for mansions and Porsches. His wealth was knowledge and his work; and if it was just him, it would have been enough."

"What do you mean?"

Lamden gave a grim smile. "For a rational scientist, Connor was quite vulnerable when it came to relationships. He adored and worshipped the one he loved."

"We never got any indication that he had a girlfriend."

"That was because there wasn't."

He stood calmly as he saw her expression change from bafflement to shocked realization.

Catherine managed to not blink herself into an idiot. "Oh. Um. Alright. A-and, you know his name?"

Lamden returned the clock onto the brick surface. "Dimitri Anton."

* * *

Had Catherine learnt about Dimitri Anton an hour too late, she would have completely missed him. After a couple of phone calls and a race to McCarran facilitated by the unrestricted path a police siren always received, Brass and his men were safely apprehending young Anton back to the headquarters. They weren't alone, though. Dimitri's very furious fiancée had promptly followed them. 

"I demand an explanation for this." Reetha Chaudhary fumed.

"We just need to ask him a few questions, that's all." Brass coolly said.

"And you stopped him from boarding his flight because of that? This is harassment."

"We are really sorry, ma'am, but if what Mr. Anton says can help us with our investigation-"

"What can _he_ possibly say? He doesn't even work for GenSyn."

"Reetha." A tall, raven-haired man, leanly built and with aristocratic, pale good-looks, stepped towards her. "It's alright. I'm sure Captain Brass is just doing his job. Call Valerie and ask her to book me the next available plane, ok?"

She held his arm. "Dimitri, you have _nothing_ to do with this whole mess. They have no right to keep you here."

The unspoken exchange of looks between the engaged couple wasn't lost on Brass. Whatever Dimitri knew, he was being told to keep it to himself.

* * *

Dimitri fumbled with the plastic cup and spilled water on the front of his jacket. He nervously brushed the droplets away and gave Catherine a sheepish grin. She smiled, trying to ease him. Brass wasn't as accommodating. His deadpan expression and a nonchalant half-sitting-half-standing posture against the wall didn't fool anybody. 

"I must apologize for Reetha." Dimitri began. "She's been under a lot of pressure lately. Now that she's alone, she has to take care of everything at work." He chuckled feebly. "With so much stress, it's hard for anybody to just be themselves. But she only has the best intentions for GenSyn."

"We understand." Catherine moved forward. "But this isn't quite about GenSyn or your fiancée."

"Oh. I see. Well, what is it about then?"

"How well did you know Dr. Greenberg, Mr. Anton?" Brass asked.

He tried a dismissive shrug. "He was my wife's colleague and worked for my father. We met a couple of times at the company's parties, but I never really got to know him well, you know?"

"Hm." The Captain gave an exaggerated frown. "But according to Professor Lamden your relationship was a little more, um, intimate?"

If it was possible, Dimitri went even paler. His lips quivered and his eyes darted all over the room. "No… no… that's not true. No, he's lying."

"Mr. Anton," Catherine used her most soothing voice. "I know what you're feeling and I know it must have been hard for you…"

"No, you don't know what I'm feeling." Dimitri cut in angrily. "Just because some senile, old bird told you something does not give you the right to sit there and make assumptions about my life."

"So, help us, Mr. Anton. Tell us what we want to know and we won't make assumptions."

"There is nothing to say." He balled his fist. "Connor and I may have been a little… friendly before. But that ended a long time ago and I haven't kept in touch with him."

"Even though he worked under your father and with your fiancée?" Brass cocked his head.

"Connor wasn't a social man. His entire universe was his million-dollar lab at GenSyn. I rarely ever go there and he rarely comes out. It's quite hard to meet under such circumstances."

"Do you have any idea who would wanna hurt him?"

"No, I don't. A man like Connor has as few enemies as he has friends. But, as I said, it's been a while and I have no idea what he's done or who he's associated with since then."

Brass crossed his arms. "Can you explain to me, then, Mr. Anton, why you were fleeing the country?"

"Fleeing!" Dimitri yelled. "I wasn't fleeing. It was a work-related travel."

"Work-related?" Catherine opened a folder and pushed several sheets of printed statements in front of him. "Is that why you sold your apartment and closed all your accounts?"

He stared at the paper for a moment before taking in a deep breath. "I'm a photographer. I travel for work all the time. I just got an offer from the Barcelona office for Calvin Klein; I couldn't pass up _that_ kind of opportunity."

"That must have been really convenient for you."

"Think of it any way you want to." He clenched his jaw and dragged his fingers through his thickly gelled hair. "If there are no more questions, and unless you are charging me with something, I think we are done."

Brass looked at Catherine who gave him an imperceptible nod. He looked back at Dimitri. The man was clearly all nerves and was vulnerable to interrogation. But he wasn't under arrest and they couldn't keep him if he wanted to leave.

He straightened. "You can go, but we would really appreciate it if you tell your secretary not to book that flight anytime soon."

* * *

By the time shift was over, Catherine got a summons from her least favorite person. Tired as she was, she didn't fancy ending her day – or starting it, whichever way you look at it – by talking to Ecklie. Which is why, she didn't bother to knock before barging her way into his office. The brief pleasure it gave her to see the annoyance on his face was quickly replaced by confusion and trace anxiety when she saw Sara occupying one of the two chairs opposite the Assistant Director. 

"What's going on?"

Sara returned her questioning gaze. "That's what I would like to know."

"Catherine." He said as she settled herself into the other chair. "I was quite troubled to hear from Sara that you haven't told her about Lansing Pickerton."

Catherine gritted her teeth. "I never got the time, Conrad. However, I can always depend on you to be informed and keep everyone else informed."

Ecklie's face creased into one of his wide, thin-lipped smiles. "That is my job."

Sara raised her hand. "Whoa, hold on, retrack here. Who's Lansing Pickerton?"

"He's the skeleton we found in Connor Greenberg's quarters, holding _your_ ID." He replied.

She turned towards Catherine. "Oh."

"Is that why we are here, Conrad?" Catherine muttered.

"Actually, I received complaints from a certain Dr. Reetha Chaudhary." He picked up the file lying right in front of him. "Her attorney contacted me and told me that he was suing the department for harassment, invasion of privacy and unlawful detainment."

"What?" She exploded. "That's ridiculous. He came voluntarily and we let him go as soon as he wanted to. Besides, he was in the airport, minutes away from leaving the country, what were we supposed to do?"

"Catherine, you have handled this case with the least amount of delicacy. This is high profile. The whole country is watching you and the last thing we need right now is have _our_ credibility doubted on." He leant forward, features softening. "I know you have a lot on your plate, what with your supervisory duties. I fully sympathize."

Sara looked sideways and rolled her eyes. Catherine bit back a snapping retort. Instead, "Do not patronize me, Conrad. You know full well that I can handle this."

"I thought you could handle this case. But now I'm not so sure. And the Undersheriff is not willing to play bets with us. So, I have decided-"

"You can't do this."

"So, I have decided." He continued. "To hand this over to Dayshift."

The room fell silent. Sara looked at Catherine and winced at the tension in her eyes. She was half expecting Ecklie to disintegrate into thin air by the sheer force of that cold, blue stare alone.

Finally, Catherine managed a taut smile. "Well, that is certainly your right."

He shifted his attention to the brunette. "Sara, I hope you would cooperate with Dayshift regarding anything they need to know."

His only reply was a contemptuous glare.

* * *

**A/N: Hello! Once again, a hearty thanks to all my old and new readers. Your reviews make my day, you know that, right? I know I'm introducing tons of new characters, but there's a method to my madness, I promise.**

**Edit: The line, "Well, that is certainly your right" has been directly lifted from _Battlestar Galactica_, spoken by the formidable Admiral Cain. No infringement of rights intended.  
**


	14. Out of Sight

**Chapter Thirteen**

_**Out of Sight**_

Catherine caught herself in the reflection from the glassed walls. The way her hair bounced over her shoulders, testimony to the salon treatment it received a week earlier; the way her legs balanced perfectly on her heels as they briskly carried themselves across the corridors; the way her steps were perfectly coordinated with Sara's, as if in a marching band. For seven years, they've been down the same path, in the same fashion, for the same purpose. She couldn't remember the details of what they talked about, the words, or even which particular cases. She only remembered that they had done it so many times before that it had become just another one of her workplace habits.

But today it was different. She hadn't realized the routine until today when it had been changed. And the change was so subtle, so unexplainable, yet so real. The conduit that gets established between them every time this routine occurs was lost. Nothing flowed between them, not info, no evidences, and no theories. The set in Sara's jaw didn't give her any indication of what the brunette was feeling. They had almost neared her office, right at the end of the hallway, when they saw Nick walking towards them in big strides.

"Hey Cath, guess what? I've checked into Greenberg's background. He was adopted by a Ruth Greenberg. There's no record of his biological family because, get this, it was destroyed in the 1989 earthquake. He never went through Child Services, which makes me think that Ruth actually knew his real parents. Ruth died a few years ago, but she's survived by siblings and I was thinking of paying them a visit."

His enthusiasm was only met with silence and a grim exchange of looks between the two women.

"Some…thing wrong?" He frowned.

Catherine lifted her shoulders and dropped it with a sigh. "It's not our case anymore, Nick."

"What?"

"I just spoke to Ecklie and he's handed it over to dayshift."

"Whoa, Ecklie did what?" Nick gave a disbelieving gasp. "Why would he do that? He can't do that."

"He just did."

"Is it because you were involved with Lansing?"

It was Sara's turn to be shocked. "You were involved with him?"

Catherine looked nowhere in particular. "Yes, when I was sixteen."

"Gosh, Catherine, is there _anything_ _else_ I don't know?"

"Well, we can't just stand around and do nothing." Nick said.

"No, we won't be doing nothing. You and Warrick have a 415 at the Palermo."

Sara noticed the quick flash in Catherine's eyes that she could only interpret as an idea forming.

* * *

**_October 7, 1989_** **_Beckwith Circle, Cambridge, Massachusetts_**

_Sara was frustrated as the loud slamming of the front door once again broke her concentration. She rose from her bed and put aside the text book that was balanced on her belly. The strain on it reminded her of how heavy the book was._

"_Sara!"_

"_I'm studying!" She yelled back._

_That didn't deter her roommate from bursting the door open. _

"_Yes, yes, I'm disturbing, I know. I'll leave you with your precious books. Just promise me you're helping me choose a dress for Friday night." Josie paused. "Peter's taking me to meet his parents."_

"_I will."_

"_You are the bestest friend, Sar." Josie beamed, hurrying out of the room._

_Sara was ready to flop back into bed when the door flew open again. _

"_Oh, I forgot to tell you. There's a Vanessa Munoz waiting for you down by the foyer."_

_At that, Sara stiffened, her eyes going wide._

* * *

Sara walked towards the single closet in her bedroom. She slid open the door and stared at her wardrobe. Dark, sober colors greeted her back. On the top shelf was a box. She stretched and took it out. A duct tape had firmly sealed it close. She hadn't opened it in more than a decade, but she never got around to throwing it away. Whether it was moving to San Francisco or coming to Vegas, she carried the box with her. It wasn't a reminder; it was a part of her.

With a knife, she tore the tape and the flaps bobbed a little as the pressure released from them. She carefully pried them apart.

The papers had browned with age. As she ran her hand over them, she recognized the crispness that had been preserved over years of non-use. Sara looked up, fighting the fear overpowering her. Her knees had gone frail and something cold had settled inside her stomach. With trembling fingers, she untied the string that kept all the paper together. Using extreme gentleness, she perused through them until she found what she was searching for.

* * *

"_What's wrong?"_

_Vanessa looked very much the same, except it was the first time that Sara was seeing her outside of formals. She had on a simple tee and jeans that hugged her curves complimentarily. _

"_You are looking well."_

"_I am well. What's wrong?" Sara repeated. "Is she-"_

"_She has started having seizures again. But this time it's worse. They are moving her out of Modesto."_

_Despite her resolve otherwise, Sara couldn't help the tears from wetting the corners of her eyes. "T-to where?"_

"_For now, we don't know. The East Coast, maybe. Maybe Florida."_

"_Oh. And you? Will you fight for my mother even after she's moved?"_

_Vanessa sighed. Even if it wasn't immediately noticeable, Sara knew that others must see the weary lines that made the woman seem so much older. It gave her no small amount of guilt to know that her mother's case was the reason for it._

"_I don't know. We have branches all over the country, but they might not take interest. It's not personal for them."_

"_It's not personal for you either."_

"_It wasn't."_

"_Let this go, Vanessa. You can't win. She can't win. She's alive and not suffering the death penalty, which is more than enough." _

"_Is it? Is it enough for you, Sara? Does it justify your mother's humiliation?" Vanessa snorted. "But then again, how would **you** know what condition she's in. You never went to visit her."_

"_Don't do this, not today." Sara looked down at her shoes. _

_Vanessa came closer and clasped her hands in front of her chest. "Sara, she's going away, maybe forever. She might never come back; you might never get a chance again. Just see her this one time."_

_She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Don't ever come here again, Vanessa."_

"_Sara-"_

"_You keep doing this and it kills me to tell you no every time. So, just… don't."_

_The silence was so complete, yet so unbearable. Sara wanted to cry, yell, or both. But she couldn't. She had resolved to put her past firmly behind and as much as she liked Vanessa, seeing the woman wasn't helping her do that. _

"_Very well."_ _Vanessa's voice was like chipped edges of ice. "I will do my best for Laura. But in the event that I cannot offer her justice-"_

_Sara's nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms._

"_I'm giving you my address and number alongwith contact information for some of my friends. If, for some reason, you can't find me, ask them, they'll know." She heard what sounded like scribbling on paper. "I hope one day you will stand up for her. She doesn't deserve this; not the pain and certainly not her daughter's disregard."_

_When she finally opened her eyes, Vanessa was long gone._

* * *

The Crime Lab looked recognizable, yet not familiar, during the day. The bright shafts of sunlight slanting down and the speckles of dust dancing in them gave the atmosphere a sepia, grungy look. The modern edge that the hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of instruments brought to the place was lost in the placid mood that usually accompanied afternoons. Droopy, hungry, and sleepy masks covered the faces of the lab techs.

It was certainly not the first time Sara had been inside the Crime Lab during day. But she barely noticed the passing of hours while she was working overtimes. One shift merged into the other and, before she knew, she hadn't gone home for more than 24 hours.

This was different. She wasn't staying back on a case. She wasn't going through extra reading. She wasn't called for help. She had no reason to be here, none official, anyway. She felt wary as she walked across the hallways, just the way an intruder feels. She expected someone to question her presence any minute. But her trip went by without incident.

Catherine had said she shared her office with another supervisor. Thankfully, the other woman wasn't fond of paperwork. She took her job, more than her title, seriously, and was probably in the field somewhere. That bit of information Greg provided. He apparently found her quite easy on the eyes.

Sara casually pushed open the door, one eye alert for any signs of Sharon Rekieh, otherwise known as the dayshift supervisor. Assured that no one was giving her suspicious looks, Sara walked inside.

She suppressed her smile at the huge, plastic ducks placed conspicuously on the desk. One of them, the blue one, was actually winking. She gave it a pleading look, "Shh. It's our secret, OK."

She didn't have to search a lot for the folder, as she had feared. Catherine, or perhaps Rekieh, had placed it right on top of the other piles. She picked it up and then quickly glanced around towards the windows. She didn't detect any presence and it was quiet outside. She returned her attention to the thing in her hands.

The folder was thicker than she had expected. Browsing through them, she saw a lot many printouts about everything from GenSyn's IRS information to news clippings. Each had tiny little notes made at its bottom in what she recognized was Catherine's writing. She flipped past them until something caught her attention. She went a page back.

Suddenly, there was a noise behind her. She froze, almost dropping the folder in the process, mind running to think up an excuse. Through her terror, she saw the door was still closed. She heard one of the techs shouting at someone else to be careful and not throw stuff around. Even though they couldn't really see her through the shuttered windows, she still eased into the shadows to be safe. It wasn't until everything went back to silent that she allowed herself to breathe.

She took out a notepad from her jacket and a pen and began to scratch in the details that had interested her. Her hands shook and she silently cursed herself. Finished with that page, she continued reading. Sara copied down info from few more sections before closing the folder and carefully placing it back into its original position. That whole business must have taken less than ten minutes, but she already felt like she had been there an hour and she could feel her heart muscles thump against her ribcage.

Sara went to the windows and slowly lowered one of the slats. She checked to see if there was anyone outside. Assured, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

With an air of casualness that she hoped was convincing, Sara closed the door behind her. She pat her jacket to make sure she hadn't forgotten her notepad. She had just turned the corner when she collided with a solid body.

"Sara?" Catherine blinked when she had recovered from the collision. "What the hell were you doing in my office?"

* * *


	15. Cut Through the Layers

**Cut Through the Layers  
**

Rest: Such a funny word. It can be a godsend for a weary laborer. It can be a euphemism for death. It can be a verb and it can be a noun. It can mean a state of being and it can be a location. It can also denote 'otherness', a detachment from oneself. Despite its forms and variations, it's a gentle word. It is never spoken loudly or with harshness. It carries with itself empathy and grace.

Rest: A simple word with four letters that doesn't even get you high scores on Scrabble.

Rest: It had caused her limbs to stiffen into immobility. So that when she shifted, she found her muscles complaining by sending electrical waves running all the way up to her brain.

Rest: That was what everyone kept saying she needed. Her overtime quota was maxed. Sometimes, she didn't even work for the overtime. If she had her way, she'd probably spend every waking minute in the lab, trying to find the one piece of evidence that can bring a crime to justice.

Rest: That was how she saw the world. There was her, and then there were the rest – that majority of the population who never saw inside her, never strove to understand.

Rest: That was where her brother was… forever.

_"What happened to him?" _Catherine had asked. She had known the right question. She hadn't beaten about the bush. She hadn't started with vain warm-up sessions. No, she had gotten straight to the point.

_"It is about your brother, isn't it? You never told us the whole truth."_

As she faced Catherine in the latter's office, she wondered about the secrets in her life. The many, many secrets that had crept into her being and become a part of her; like a parasitic form feeding off her life.

The problem with secrets was that they are not stable nor are they independent. To preserve the integrity of secrets one had to tell lies, or at least, avoid telling truths. And each non-truth starts a whole new process of hiding. It brings with itself new secrets, settling in a layer upon the old ones. Then one has to go through another cycle of non-truths, and another round of hiding, and so on and so forth.

Days blend into years, and very soon, those layers upon layers of secrets get compact. Their structures interlace within each other. Soon, one becomes inseparable from the other. A mélange of truths and lies, actual facts and made-up figures mesh together in this deposited mass, the process made faster by intense pressure exerted to keep what's inside, inside.

And when it reaches to that point, how do you indicate the original layer, the secret that started it all? You know which one it is because you've been through it; you have experienced it happening to you all your life. But is there a scientific apparatus that can help you transfer those inner experiences into a readable, decipherable form?

How does she answer Catherine's questions? Can she probe into her feelings, her memories, when she doesn't even know where to begin?

Greg had asked her whether trust was the issue, and she had said not.

_"There are people above Ecklie, people who know pressure. However negative or wrongly earned, Sam Braun's influence is still strong. That influence came to me as my legacy and I used it."_

She didn't doubt that. Not that she was judging Catherine's morality; she had no right to, anyway. It wasn't as if she had been the epitome of good virtue. She didn't even have that basic thing called courage.

_"I cannot do this if you hide things from me, Sara."_

If she spilled her secrets, what would be left? Can she lay herself raw in front of that person with whom she's shared the most volatile relationship in the lab? It wasn't about trust. It was about feeling vulnerable in front of the last person she wanted to.

_"I know there are things you want to keep private. I respect that. But, Sara, you know how the most trivial events can become significant."_

Oh, she did know that.

_"Talk to me."_

She would. Yes, she would. But it would just be another layer.

* * *

She wondered what Grissom would do. And not for the first time she came up with a blank. Try as she might, she could never get into her friend and colleague's mind. It was an impossibility to mimic the aloof rationality that dominated his personality. There were times when she envied the detachment with which he approached everything, be it a case or an interaction. Those times were few, however, this was one of those times.

Frustration sizzled at the base of her throat, threatening to spit itself out. With a degree of control that was making her weary, she had managed to keep a check on it. But she didn't know long that would last, considering the woman sitting in front of her was even more closed off than a guilty perp with an attorney.

_"My brother was shot. I was there. I saw him."_

She had kept her face passive, but a tiny sliver of empathy managed to squeeze past. There were only two Saras she had seen in the seven years of knowing her. There was the CSI Sara, a workaholic scientist who was dedicated, sometimes annoyingly so, to the cases she investigated. Then there was the woman who was interpersonally… lacking. If she was too professional with some cases, she was too non-professional with some.

But this was different. There was none of the intense concentration of work or the stubborn devotion. Instead, she looked a little like a lost child. Confusion hazed the brown eyes and Sara refused to meet her eyes.

_"I want to help you. But there is nothing I can do in Vegas. I have to go to _ _San Francisco__."_

Was she running away? Hiding behind some excuse like always? Would this conversation end the same way it did when they had gone out to beer after the Hank fiasco? Would Sara just drown her problems and offer to share none? Once again, it hurt not to be trusted.

_"There's someone who was connected to my… my brother. I have to meet her. Maybe she knows something."_

Brother. That wasn't what Sara was going to say. She could sense the lie, the subtle twitch of discomfort in the woman's body language. She felt more of that empathy replace the anger. Sara wasn't Grissom. There was no logic serving as armor for her emotions. It bent and twisted; only some unfathomable reason kept the cries from escaping.

Why does Sara do that? Why is it so hard to share? Was she, so much a stranger, so despised that Sara can't bear to allow herself to open up to her? Did Grissom know? Did Grissom even care?

_"I dunno what I'll find there. I don't even know how long I'm going to be there."_

Sara **is** running away. The answer that she wanted was sitting right there, not in Frisco. And, yet she couldn't get it. She would have to wait, until Sara had chased whatever phantom there was in that city. She was going to be left out again. And she wouldn't be left out again, not professionally, not personally.

_"Call you?"_ Sara had looked shocked at the suggestion. She had even trembled. _"I-I dunno… it's… I mean…"_

It was the strategic thing to do. Keeping in touch and exchanging notes, making it sort of like a covert operation of their own. It would be too difficult – not to mention dangerous – for Sara to try and go heads on with the mammoth bureaucracy that was guarding GenSyn.

It was the wise thing to do. After all, in Sara's own words, "Two women are better than one".

It was the only thing to do, because she was concerned. She was concerned like she had been in the Hank situation, like she had been during the lab explosion, like she had been when Sara had lost her temper in the interrogation room.

And this time, she wasn't going to allow Sara to escape.

* * *

It was raining outside. Vegas, a Mecca in the middle of the desert for glittering lights and glaring sins, was soaked under the downpour of a storm that does not differentiate. Sheets of water bounced off surfaces, fell across jaded faces, forming a blanket of moisture on eyes made dull by life's disappointments.

Catherine could hear the pitter-patter on the umbrella she was carrying. Not that it gave her much protection, not when the pouring rain shifted angles frequently. Beside her, Sara stood with her hands shoved inside the deep pockets of her trench coat. The splashes from hurried cars and people, the thick deluge of moisture and the usual wisps of pollution mingled together into an impenetrable fog that shrouded visibility. Their own breaths condensed in front of them to do their part.

She noticed Sara was trembling. She also didn't miss the numerous backward glances she gave.

"Stop looking like you're not coming back."

Sara quickly turned her gaze down, playing her boots in a puddle. "It's like I know that when I come back, something's going to change."

"Ecklie's given you leave, quite begrudgingly I admit, but you had your vacations long overdue. Whoever he brings in will just be temporary."

"I know I'm irreplaceable." Sara gave a side smile. "But I'm not talking about Ecklie."

Catherine shook her head. "Nothing can change if you don't want it to change."

"Sometimes you don't have that control." Sara turned towards her. "I've to go now. Be seeing you when I come back."

Catherine raised her hand slightly, hesitating mid-air. Finally, she reached out and touched the wet sleeves of Sara's coat.

"I hope to hear from you before that."

Sara was shaking from something inside herself. With a calm that mocked the sudden tumult in her gut, she placed her hand where Catherine had rested hers. She touched them and then slowly moved forward, still holding on to them. Their fingers lay in contact, drenching in the shower, threatening to slip because of it. Beads of water slid down its curves and ridges, and fell off in combined drops.

Sara finally contracted her arm, removing the feel of another's skin from her fingers. A gentle smile touched her lips as she looked at Catherine for the last time before she turned and walked away. To the still eye, she had become just another figure in the fog.

* * *


	16. Miles to go before I Sleep

**Miles to go before I sleep**

Sara skimmed past another article related to Iraqi sectarian violence, complete with pictures of bearded, ragged looking men knifing each other, and turned her attention to a snippet concerning the World Bank.

The queue in front of her was long and its lethargic pace raised a few tempers along. The outside warmth in the sixties didn't help matter.

She vaguely heard arguments in front, something about a jar of pickles. She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the newspaper. Behind her, she could feel a faint breeze from a woman using a paperback to fan herself.

After what was surely an eternity, Sara finally found herself in front of a white-uniformed officer. He barely looked at her as his eyes were fixed upon the monitor where a skeletal x-ray image of her luggage flickered. A few inches behind him, a stolidly built woman towered in form. Her face was carved out of rock amidst which rested two iceberg-blue eyes. Sara avoided those eyes.

"You're Ok." The seated officer, oblivious to the tension, muttered. He had already readied the screener for the next batch.

Sara slung her duffel over her shoulders and pulled back her hair with the other hand. Emerging from Terminal 1, she fished a city guide out of her jacket.

She had just about gotten into the details of the airport's shuttle bus system when she felt a tap on her arm. Swerving around, she came face-to-face with a young man, probably somewhere in his mid-twenties. Sara squinted. "Yes?"

"Sara Sidle?"

"That's me."

He broke into a genial smile and a hand was offered. "Hi, I'm Kevin Munoz, Vanessa's son."

It took a second for her to overcome her surprise and accept his greeting. "Hi, I wasn't quite expecting anyone-"

"Mother's instructions."

"Do you always follow your mother's instructions?"

Kevin Munoz grinned. "I'm three quarters Mexican, so yeah, I usually do."

After a little protest, Sara agreed to let him take her bag and followed him. She used her _Oakland Tribune_ to shield her face from the sudden sunlight as they walked out into the open.

The traffic was the usual weekend fare and Kevin was able to let his Ford speed across the Nimitz Freeway. Sara absorbed herself with the occasional glimpses of the bay from where she sat. Light shimmered on the water to give it an appearance of a blue, satin ribbon lining the horizon. She could just make out the white triangles of sailboats.

"So, you're a CSI, huh?" He gave her a sideways look. "What's it like, I mean to work as a crime investigator?"

"Bad days, good days, just like any other job."

"Yeah, but yours is not just any other job. I read somewhere that Vegas had like the best crime lab in the country."

"Second best." She corrected him. "After FBI's Quantico."

"Ah."

Pollution and heat lent the air a burning smell, but Sara enjoyed the summer breeze that drafted in from the bay. Her untied hair played around her face and she let her thoughts wander off behind its veil.

The house where the Munozs lived was Spanish Colonial. Low-pitched roof shaded the house from the strong Californian sun. A variety of Roman mythological figures were sculpted in terracotta and decorated along the wide driveway.

"The _casa_ belonged to my late grandfather, bless his soul." Kevin explained, helping the bags out of the trunk. "_His_ grandfather came from Mexico to work on the Oakland Long Wharf. Our family's lived here since then."

Sara took in the neighbors and the flickering of lights as evening was descending upon them. She followed Kevin inside the house.

* * *

_**November 19, 1979, The Bay View Inn, San Rafael, CA**_

_She groaned as she was dragged out of her sleep. She turned and the bed's ancient springs trembled and squeaked. Opening her eyes, she saw him tucking his shirt into his jeans._

"_Where you going?" _

"_Oh hey!" He looked at her, his form outlined against the pale light coming from the window. "I gotta get to work."_

"_Work?" She squinted at the bedside clock that had its needles spread diametrically across. "This early in the morning?"_

"_Yeah, got a call. They said it was important."_

_She hoisted herself up, pulling the sheets to cover her bare chest. "Lan, who are **they**?"_

"_Babe, I told you, they are old friends of mine."_

"_So, why don't you tell me about them? If they are old friends, I might know them too. What's the goddamn secrecy?"_

"_Get back to sleep, Cath."_

"_And this… this work that you do." She continued. "You're sometimes gone for days at a row. And you carry a gun. Why don't you just tell me what is it that you do?"_

_He cast an irritated glance. "This work that I do pays for our stay here, for our food."_

"_Wrong, Lan. __**I**__ pay for our stay and our food from __**my**__ tips. You are saving your cash for your big fat music career."_

"_Exactly. And once I get big, you won't have to work. We'll be rich, babe! This is just a short stint till I get enough to start publicizing myself."_

_She sighed. "You don't have to do all this. I told you we could go to Vegas. I have someone I know there - you know, that man, Sam Braun, my mother's friend? - he can help us with money."_

"_I don't need his fucking money!" Lan snapped. Then calming down he leant towards her, "Babe, I want to do this on my own, don't you see? I don't want anybody's help."_

"_But you are taking the help of your friend."_

"_Yeah, but not for free. This is why I work my ass off!"_

_She reached out and touched his face. She ran a finger along the bristles on his jaw. "I'm just concerned."_

_He bent down and kissed her. "I'll be back soon. Keep yourself sexy for me, will ya?"_

_Catherine could only nod as he abruptly stood up and walked out of the room._

* * *

Brass opened the door, knocking it at the same time. He saw her slumped forward on her desk, head in her hands. She looked up as she heard him enter."Jim?" 

"Bad time?"

"Nah." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "What's up?"

"I talked to Joshua Greenberg, Ruth's brother. Here's what he had to say." He pushed forward a sheet of paper. "I can tell you, that was no grieving uncle. Basically, he didn't know Connor well; liked him even less."

Catherine put on her glasses. "Did he say anything about Connor's real parents?"

"Claims he never met them. Some old friends of Ruth."

"So, we don't have anything on Connor's background."

"I can keep digging, but social services and adoption agencies can be really hard on privacy. Plus those days, people hated records; it just wasn't a matter of click and save."

"Yeah."

Brass leant back, scowling. "I don't like this."

"The case? Tell me about it. Every lead is a dead end."

"No, not that. This." He wagged his finger at the space between them. "This underground operation you've got going on. And Sidle, what the hell was she thinking? And what the hell were _you_ thinking allowing that hair-brain idea of hers?"

"She wasn't exactly asking for my permission, Jim."

"Doesn't mean you couldn't have stopped her."

"You think I didn't try?"

"Maybe you should have told Grissom."

She narrowed her eyes. "No. No Grissom."

He exhaled. "Will she at least be keeping in touch, letting us know she's alive?"

"I've asked her to. But it's Sara, who knows what she'll do?"

"Oh, this is great."

* * *

Vanessa was stretched languidly on a deck chair in the solarium. A paperback novel lay upside down in her lap. Only an angle of the setting sun's glare was caught but it bathed the entire space in a reddish hue. Couple that with the still azure sky in the background and one could have been witnessing an Impressionist work of art. 

Vanessa sat up straight as Sara walked in. She beckoned the younger woman to take the cane chair beside hers.

"Do you find your room comfortable?"

"It is very much; thank you." Sara tapped her fingers against each other. "You didn't have to trouble yourself, though."

"Don't talk like you're a stranger."

They sat there quiet, taking in the lazy change of color around them. Sara took the time to observe the woman. Wrinkles and crow's feet marred the once porcelain-fine face. A few extra pounds had been added on what she remembered as a svelte figure. But she still looked fit and her eyes never stopped glittering, moving back and forth, apprising information. Other than its sagginess, the skin held a healthy look.

Vanessa bent over and picked up what looked like a folder bulging thick at its seams from underneath her chair. Without a word, she handed it to her.

Sara stared at it for a while, indecision numbing her mind, before she leant forward and took it. The folder felt as heavy as it looked and she let it rest flat against her right palm. With her left, she slowly lifted the cover and as she did so, an old mug shot slipped from its position onto her shirt. Her hands shook as she recognized the face on the picture; her wrists lost control and weakened, causing the folder and its contents to scatter all across the floor.

"G-god, I'm sorry. Shit. Sorry. I'm so sorry." She muttered, lowering herself and splaying her hands on the sheets of paper all wildly dispersed. Something clouded her vision – probably tears – and she could hardly see what her hands were doing. In an instinctive manner, she collected everything and shoved them inside the folder. She brought it close to her chest, fingers digging into its rough texture, and sat back down. Her breath came up short, heart palpitating. She waited for it to subside before opening the folder halfway through. Once again, she felt a tremor race through her hands.

"Whenever you're ready, Sara. You are not ready."

Sara looked at Vanessa, her cheeks flushed. "I thought I… I was… but..."

"You are welcome to stay as long as you want. Take your time."

"You must think I'm being silly."

Vanessa calmly laid one hand over the other and leant back. "All that I had to judge you, I judged you back then. Now I only want to help."

She let herself absorb the implication of what she said before turning to face the sky. "Thank you."

* * *

Sara stared at the blackness above her. Only the slightest moonlight entered through the slits between the curtains and fell across a flower vase like a milky blade. She could hear the hum that was the air vents doing their work and the periodic tick-tock of her watch. 

It was a warm night. She was uncovered, the sheets kicked into a pile at her foot. Her constant tossing and turning wasn't helping keep her body cool. Finally, she rose with a frustrated groan and turned the bedside lamp on.

She had kept the compiled notes that Vanessa gave her on the desk. It was still there; sitting alone on the surface, mocking her cowardice, taunting her sleeplessness. Without thinking anything, she picked it up.

The first page wasn't easy. Laura, her mother, greeted her. She was a beautiful woman; everyone had said that. Sandy hair, fresh peaches-and-cream complexion, grey eyes, high cheekbones, straight nose. She wasn't smiling in the photo. If she had, one could have seen the tiny gap between the two front teeth, the diastema condition that Sara had inherited.

She couldn't see anymore. She flipped the pages, trying to avoid pictures for the most part. She waited for something easier to deal with. There must be something easier to deal with.

Towards the end of the thick stack, she came across a piece of document.

DECEDENT NAME (First Middle Last): Daniel Hayley

DATE OF BIRTH: June 10, 1961

AGE AT LAST BIRTHDAY: 18

SEX: M

DATE OF DEATH: November 19, 1979

FATHER-NAME: Ned Hayley

MOTHER-NAME: Laura Sidle

Sara closed her eyes, shutting the file with a thud.

She counted until ten before trying to open both again, but she found her strength waned.

No, it was definitely not easy. None of it was easy. Vanessa said she should only do it when she was ready. She wondered if she'd ever be ready.

"_I hope to hear from you…"_

Catherine.

She slipped out of bed. The rug felt coarse on her heels. Her bag lay there unzipped. She could see one end of her jeans sticking out from it. She bent down and dug into the side compartment for her phone.

Catherine's number was on speed dial, just as the rest of the graveyard shift's was. It would take only a single key – a key she had used on innumerable occasions previously and a key she found arduously difficult to press this one time – to get in touch to the woman miles away.

"It's just Catherine. Just Catherine." Sara told herself, her thumb lingering over that key.

* * *


	17. Misdirected

**_Misdirected_**

Sara stared at her phone, the keypad, the fluorescent glow from its display, the signal and power bars, and a surfer fighting the waves on the screen. Her fingers felt around the contours that rounded off with a smooth finish.

She knew she was procrastinating. She was trying to occupy herself with mindless details to get the pretension of being busy. In truth, she was just trying to while the time away until she could justify to herself that it had been too late to call. She had already exhausted all excuses – that of Catherine being busy in the field or at office – because she knew it was her coworker's day off. It was one of those random things she always remembered about Catherine, just like the fact that she knew the woman liked her coffee with cream, but no sugar.

_For God's sake_ – she cursed at herself.

She let it drop on her lap.

It was easy with Greg. He was Greg and he always had a joke or a funny curve to lighten things up. Sara would be on the verge of tears and yet he could manage to force a smile out of her. He was her buddy, who gave her hope that there was a bright side to everything it.

It was easy with Grissom. He listened, quietly and passively, taking everything in; no doubt breaking it apart in that analytical way of his. Sometimes, he would have a suggestion or a word of wisdom. If nothing else, his presence was soothing. It gave the sense that everything had a rational explanation; everything was destined to be solved in a logical, precise manner.

Catherine was all kinds of difficult.

The radio clock digits flickered forward with every minute that she delayed.

"Alright, here goes." She took a deep breath, calmed herself, rehearsed what she needed to say in her head, and pressed her thumb on the keys. She could hear the ringing in the rested silence of her room even though the phone was still at a distance away from her ear.

The ringing continued forever, until it didn't. It ended with a click and an unmistakable voice followed. Sara quickly brought her phone up.

"Catherine, hel-" She halted as she heard the monotonous recitation of an automated message.

* * *

Catherine found Dimitri Anton inside Our Lady of Wisdom. He stood alone below the image of the Virgin Mary with her Child. The absence of electrical lights and the unstable illumination brought about by thin candlesticks cast his face in a gloomy seriousness. A single, red candle lay in his hands, its wick burning, and wax dripping from its tilted end.

The heels of her boots echoed back with eerie multitude as she made her way towards him. He did not shake from his reverie nor give her a glance. She came to a stop near him, but did not announce her presence. She had been raised a Catholic and, even though the only connection she had it had been just after Sam had died, she felt the need to be respectful.

"Ms. Willows, sorry for keeping you waiting." Dimitri's voice was soft, but hoarse. Only when he turned to her did she notice the tearstains on his face.

"That's alright."

He placed his candle into a slot on a huge stand already inhabited by many of its half-burnt sisters.

"Is that for Connor?" She asked.

"They say God does not approve of people like me. They say that Connor, me, others like me, we are going to Hell. Is that what you believe, Ms. Willows?"

"I believe that God only wants love in this world. What does it matter what form it comes in?"

"Quite true, but what can be done when love is not enough?"

"Is that what happened between you and Connor? Was the love not enough?"

Dimitri exhaled. "Is love ever enough, Ms. Willows? Doesn't reality rear its ugly head on occasion?"

"Was reality why you hurt him?"

"Hurt him? I would never hurt him. I would never do anything that would make him unhappy. That was how much I loved him."

"And did Reetha know of the relationship?"

"Oh yes." He settled himself into the bench at the first row. "Yes, they all knew."

"They?"

"My parents, my family. They were far from approving, but they knew they couldn't control me. Their only worry, though, was that they needed an heir. Being gay and largely uninterested in the affairs of the company, that was going to be somewhat of a problem. You know, I'm the only son in my generation."

He clasped his hands and rested them on his knees. "Then Reetha came along and a solution presented itself. She was devoted to the company, to my father, and to her work and she'd be the perfect mother to the future of GenSyn. My parents were, after all, concerned about the other half of the gene pool in their future heir. It was all very convenient. My father saw it as a way in which he could keep all interests of the company inside the family. Reetha saw it as an opportunity to rise in the company she worshipped. And I-" a sardonic smile "I was allowed to pursue my own personal life as long as I married her and produced a male offspring."

Catherine couldn't help but raise a bewildered eyebrow at that.

"I know, it all sounds very two centuries ago." Dimitri said. "But my family had been a Romanov supporter during the Revolution. They fled to America when the Soviets took over. The spirit of Royalism runs strong in our blood."

"And was Connor okay with it?"

"When Connor found out… he said we should end it. He was a brilliant scientist but a romantic at heart. He didn't want to be a part of this."

Catherine sat down beside him. She noticed his chin trembled as he struggled to keep the sobs within himself. In her years of duty, she had learnt to see signs of truths and lies in a witness. While those were often unreliable and certainly not admissible in court, she nevertheless found herself believing in the grief that was threatening to dismantle Dimitri.

"I want to help you, Ms. Willows." He choked. "I want to help you find out what happened. I know some … things that- things that could help your case. I want to do this for him."

"I appreciate it, Dimitri. But you do know that your father is one of the suspects. Can you deal with that?"

"Yeah, I can. As terrible as that may sound."

"So, how can you help?"

"I lied when I said he had been absorbed in his work. In truth, he had been quite absent from the lab in the past few months. I don't know who knows, but he was making enquiries, getting in touch with all sorts of people, traveling places." He bit his upper lip. "It was almost like he was trying to investigate something, you know? Like a secret or something. He became quite obsessed with it, actually. I've never seen him this passionate about anything, not even his work, and that's saying something. It was as if he was possessed with whatever mission he had."

Catherine frowned thoughtfully. "Do you know what this mission was about?"

"I'm not sure. But he did keep a journal. My father's people destroyed everything at his apartment, but I managed to sneak that away. Unfortunately, there isn't much I can make out of it. Connor used chemical notations to code his writings. Hard to believe, but the last time I saw Chemistry was in Grade 10."

"Do you have the journal with you now?"

"No, I-"

Suddenly, the silent chamber was filled with the unmistakable sounds of sirens. Lights broke through the windows into the shadowy gloominess inside, causing both Catherine and Dimitri to jump to their feet.

"Why did you call the police?" He turned accusing looks towards her.

"I didn't." She looked around. "Stay here; I'll see what's going on."

Catherine jogged towards the main gate. She could hear muffled footsteps outside and the faint garbled noises from the radio.

"I'm coming out!" She yelled. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Involuntarily, her lids shut and her hands pounced in defense as blinding flashlights and red-and-blue lamps became too much for her eyes to bear.

"Ma'am, stay where you are. We are coming to you." Amidst the painful flashes bombarded at her, she could only make out dim shapes of what may be officers.

"I'm Catherine Willows, CSI." She took a step forward.

"Ma'am, _please_ stay where you are." The shapes were getting nearer.

"For God's sake, turn off those lights! I'm Catherine Willows!"

"Catherine?"

In the sea of confusion, she recognized the male voice.

"Oh God, Brass, it's me. Tell your men to back off."

She heard Jim Brass shout a series of orders at his people and finally the lights were cut, leaving Catherine with a dull headache. She blinked and looked away into the darkness.

"Cath, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the very same question."

"We were responding to a 911 call."

"Here?"

"Dispatch picked up a 911 call from this place around twenty minutes ago. Said someone had broken and entered and one of the priests was hurt." Brass turned towards the uniforms. "Surround the Church. Seal off all exits!"

"Jim, there was no B&E. I've been here for almost an hour."

"What were you doing here?" Brass narrowed his eyes.

"I was meeting a… friend."

"A friend? Here?"

"Yeah."

"Is that friend still inside?"

Catherine hesitated and then slowly nodded. "It's Dimitri."

"Who?"

"Dimitri. Dimitri Anton. GenSyn. Connor Greenberg case."

"Right. But what were you doing meeting him here?"

"He said he had something important to tell me about Connor."

"What's wrong with our interrogation rooms?"

"Jim, he didn't want to go downtown."

"And you didn't think for a second that it may be dangerous?"

"Why would he hurt me?" She looked at him incredulously.

"Why won't he? You are on his father's hate list."

"He wanted to talk to me, Jim. We couldn't do that down at the PD."

"Are you and Sidle competing for the _Who's the stupidest this month_ prize?"

"Jim-" She shook her head exasperatedly.

"What is going on here?"

Catherine and Brass turned at the voice. A medium-height man in his early forties stood before them. He was robed from collar downwards in austere black. A gaunt face and grey eyes stared at them questioningly.

"Who are you people?"

Brass showed him his badge. "I'm Captain Brass, LVPD. We were responding to a 911 call here."

"A 911 call? What are you talking about? No one called 911 here."

"And you are?"

"I'm Father Doyle Richardson, the Pastor of the Church."

"Father, who else is on the premises at this hour?"

Father Richardson briefly looked at Catherine before answering. "Well, there are nuns who live in the dormitories upstairs and the watchmen who keep check. The staff and cleaners left a long time ago."

"And you're sure that none of your nuns could have made that call?"

"We were all in the Chapel, attending our final service before we retire for the day. Besides, the watchmen would have alerted us to any disturbance."

"How come I didn't see any security when I entered the Church an hour ago?"

"Because we don't have one for here." Father Richardson gestured towards the sanctuary. "Many lost souls come to seek the Lord's shelter in the darkness of the night. It would be unfair to close off such a refuge for them. There is nothing here to steal other than the Lord's graces, and that He offers generously."

"Well, in that case, you wouldn't mind to _generously_ offer your cooperation so that we can search the place?"

His face slightly hardened, but he kept his tone neutral. "This is a sacred institution. I don't think it is right for you to be prowling around here."

"Look, we can go back, ask for a warrant – which we'd get, by the way – and return. Either way, we are going to be searching around. Except, in the latter case, me and my officers might be a little less nice."

Father Richardson glared at them and then turned sideways, clasping his hands behind his back. "See that you do not disturb anything."

Brass had already begun barking commands into his transmitter.

She pushed open the heavy door and went back inside the building. She wasn't all that surprised to find Dimitri not there, though her mind raced to come up with a possible explanation.

"Where is he?" She heard Brass behind her.

She shrugged, but continued walking down the nave shifting her gaze both sides and trying to peek into the tiny spaces in between pews. They were empty.

"Father, did you see a man, tall, black hair, pale complexion?" Catherine asked, once she noticed that the priest had followed them too.

He frowned. "No. Is he the man they are looking for?"

"I don't know. He was with me before the police arrived, but then he left. I was wondering if you saw him."

"Can't say I have." He said. "There is nothing going on here. I don't know what you guys are looking for, but it never happened in my Church. Someone was obviously playing a prank or maybe your people got the address wrong."

Catherine observed the vast cathedral and took in all the possible exit points. Most were already occupied by officers, but there had been a delay. When she had gone outside and spoken to Brass, she had opened in a few minutes interval. If the call was indeed a false alarm, there was a reason why it was made.

"Captain! Captain!" Voices both squawked from the receiver and boomed in from the outside.

Brass hurried towards the nearest exit with Catherine following him closely.

Three uniforms were huddled close together, two of them supporting the weight of a man. The man appeared in bad shape, blood and dirt caked on the front of his shirt.

"That's Dimitri." Catherine whispered.

"Did you call an ambulance?" Brass was already by the young man's side. "Sir, can you hear me? This is Captain Brass; I'm from the LVPD."

Dimitri opened his mouth to speak, but ended up sputtering out saliva and blood.

"The man who did this to you, do you know where they went?" Brass carefully leant forward.

He tried lifting his hand, but it fell limply back by his side.

"Let me." Catherine placed her hand on Brass' shoulder. "Dimitri, it's Catherine. Where did they go?"

"Ob- ob -ban-uh-un."

" Obannon Dr." Brass shot a look at his officers who were already to their feet and on the go.

"It's going to be alright. You're going to be alright." She took his hand in her own. The approach of ambulance filled the air with its sonorous familiarity. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with the effort, and closed his eyes.

The EMTs arrived with their stretcher, saline bags in their hands. One of them had readied his stethoscope while the other examined Dimitri for external symptoms.

Catherine reluctantly let them draw her away from Dimitri. She could still feel the warmth and blood where his fingers had lain in hers.

"Ma'am?"

She turned towards the rookie in a daze.

"Ma'am, your phone."

She blinked.

"Your phone is ringing."

"Oh!"

By the time, she drew it out, the sound had ceased and the call had been directed to her voicemail.

* * *

**Author apologizes for delay. Regretfully admits that she wrote and deleted and rewrote this chapter several times until it didn't make sense anymore. So, eventually she stuck with the original draft. Wonders if her Muse is having a little joke at her expense.**


	18. Reflections

**Author sez: I've decided to resurrect this fic from the netherworld. I'm doing a small recap right at the beginning for all your benefit since I'm sure most of you must have forgotten what this fic was about. Heck, I forgot what this fic was about. So, I hope those of you still sticking around to read will enjoy this. ****  
**

**Recap**

**1.**** Grissom tells Sara that he's taking a sabbatical.**

**2. Doc Robbins finds an unidentifiable, biological substance inside a corpse.**

**3. Doc Robbins tells Catherine that the substance is a manufactured entity by a pharmaceutical company – Gensyn -- as a vaccine for HIV. The corpse is of one of the doctors on the research team – Connor Greenberg.**

**4. Sara finds out that Catherine had spread the news about her and Grissom all over the lab.**

**5. Catherine and Sofia find a skeleton in Greenberg's quarters at GenSyn.**

**6. Sara's ID is found along with the skeleton.**

**7. Sara comes to know of the finding. She remembers back to when her mother's lawyer, Vanessa Munoz, talked to her.**

**8. Sara tells Nick that her brother was shot when she was young.**

**9. Catherine decides to strike up a truce with Sara.**

**10. Catherine finds out that the skeleton was of Lansing, a guy she used to date a long time ago.**

**11. Sara is almost attacked by a stranger.**

**12. A romantic connection is found between Connor and Dimitri Anton, son of the chairman of GenSyn. Ecklie decides to take Catherine off the case.**

**13. Sara decides to search for information on the case in Catherine's office, but is caught.**

**14. Sara tells Catherine that she needs to find answers in San Francisco. Catherine offers her support.**

**15. Dimitri asks to speak to Catherine in private, but is subjected to a violent assault. Sara looks at her brother's death certificate.**

**Reflections**

She watched the ceiling ripple delicately. A smoky blue warped and undulated until it blended into a lighter hue. A flourish of tiny waves grew gently and moved, as if attracted, towards the shadows where their fairy-like tentacles became absorbed by the darkness. The spot right above her was the most saturated. A halo-ish brightness pulsated with an unknown energy, unaffected by the gloominess of the night all around it, polite in its movements so as not to disturb the silence. She lay transfixed, yet not finding sleep anywhere close despite her exhaustion and the hypnotic image.

When she felt her phone vibrate, she was momentarily unable – or perhaps unwilling, she couldn't say – to mobilize her arms into picking it up. It was only when the familiar mechanical tune seeped into her consciousness was she able to contract her muscles. Even then, she felt like she was on automaton, not entirely aware of what she was doing.

"Sidle." The same reflexive part of her brain responded.

Catherine experienced a moment of hesitation. The cacophony of shouts and gurneys squeaking around her made it difficult as is to hear properly. In addition, the voice at the other end was hoarse, like it was being pushed through a clog of tears.

"Sara? Are you there? This is Catherine."

Sara blinked. She opened her mouth to speak; only she wasn't sure what to say. Just then, she heard shouts and what sounded like an intercom voice buzzing at the other end. "Catherine, where are you?"

"At the hospital."

_Hospital?_ Sara went bolt upright. "What? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm here for Dimitri Anton. He was attacked."

As the name of Dimitri Anton became recognizable, Sara brought herself to sit straight, to the case of Connor Greenberg, to the reality of her being in San Francisco. "Attacked, by whom? What happened?"

Catherine stepped away from the lounge, and walked towards a deserted corridor with slanted glass walls that gave her a view of the speeding traffic on N Tenaya Way. She began with the phone call from Dimitri.

Sara listened as she turned on her bedside lamp. A sheet of paper fell from her body onto the bed. She didn't need to see it again to know what it was. Every line, every print, and every curve of a signature was embellished on her mind. The black on yellowed paper had reeled her back into memories and a self-tormenting trip of could-haves and might-haves. What Catherine was telling her weaved itself into the story of her past, not in any coherent form yet, but they revealed themselves like jigsaw pieces of the same puzzle. The only thing left was to put them together.

She sandwiched her phone between her ear and arm, while slipping into a robe borrowed from Vanessa. The red digitals on her bedside clock read 1:22 – her body clock read 'I'm alert and ready to solve cases'.

"So, is he going to be alright?" She asked once Catherine was finished.

"Yeah, he'll make it. He's not going to look pretty, though, and I most likely have a conversation with Ecklie coming up that I'm not looking forward to. But not much I can do about tonight. Are you calling from San Francisco?"

Sara dragged her feet across the tiled floor. "Just on the other side, in Oakland. I'm staying with... friends."

Catherine opened her mouth to speak before she clamped it shut at the sight that greeted her. "Shit."

"What's wrong?"

"Anton Sr. and Dr. Chaudhary are coming this way. I completely forgot about this conversation. Someone kill me."

Sara smiled. "Well, pretend you're on a very important call, that you absolutely cannot spare time to talk to them."

"I'm already annoying and intrusive in their books. They might as well add rude in there too."

"Exactly, and –" She stopped herself in time.

"And not like it's not true." Catherine finished for her.

"Your words, not mine." The smirk was unmistakeable.

She played with a stray blonde curl and debated the sanity of avoiding confrontation with GenSyn by indulging her co-worker's wry humor. It took her less than two seconds to decide that, while it may not be sane, it was certainly pleasant.

"So, you called earlier?"

Sara peeked out from the window, unconsciously playing with the curtain string. "Yeah, I did."

"And... what was it about?"

In a reversal of situation, she now saw her own figure reflected onto the surface of the pool. The harsh yellowness of the lamp behind her subjugated the moonlit blue of the water. "Daniel, my brother."

Catherine glanced only briefly at the approaching people. Reetha Chaudhary was fuming and pointing obvious glares at her. Anton was more composed, but the hardened lines on his puffy face were unmistakeable. She thinned her lips and blocked them away from her mind. "I'm listening."

"I was there. That day he was shot, when he was shot, I was there. I saw him." A sound appeared to crumble within her. "Catherine, I saw him die."

"Ms. Willows?" She only vaguely heard them, just barely registered their anger. Her mind, her thoughts, was on Sara.

"What happened then, Sara?"

"That's the thing, Catherine. I don't remember. I can't remember. I know there was this guy and I know I should recognize him. I know it. Yet I can't. I couldn't help the police then. They showed me so many mug shots and they all looked alike."

Sara tried to put a reign, but a tornado of mental images pounded in her head. It needed an outlet.

"Then I would have these dreams where I see Daniel, and then the guy who shot him. But every time, it's a different face, a different mug shot. Sometimes I even see my..." _No, not everything. Not yet._ "People I know reflected on the face."

"Sara, listen to me." Catherine forced her voice to be firm. "You were just a child. You were scared, you were shocked, your confusion is normal. You can't blame yourself for that."

"But I couldn't help him, Catherine! I couldn't help him get justice and they blamed me!"

_They?_ "They?"

A fist pounded into the wall. "My parents."

_Sara's parents_. "They were probably too distraught, Sara. They needed someone to blame. You've seen grieving families; you know they become incapable of rational thought."

"You don't understand."

She sensed a change in the voice, a gradual freezing she had unfortunately become used to in Sara. She couldn't allow the blockage, not when the woman was finally opening up to her. "You are right, I don't. So help me understand, Sara. Talk to me."

"I... not tonight. Can't tonight."

"Okay, alright." Without thought, Catherine found her mind and tongue adopting a soothing pitch. "You should get some sleep."

"Yeah, perhaps." Sara took a deep breath. "And what about you? Is the Medicine Moghul still there?"

"Yeah. If stares could shoot, I'd have been filled with holes by now. I think I should get into my The Catherine pose."

"What the hell is that?"

"The kind I use whenever Lindsay's being teenager-ish. And sometimes when a perp has smug as one of their admirable qualities."

"You mean the one you use when we're fighting?"

A tongue played with the cheek. "Yeah, that one."

Despite herself, Sara chuckled. "It's that bad, huh?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

"I'm already sorry for them."

"You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am. I am."

Catherine slipped her phone into her bag and ran a hand under her hair to shape them up. She stood, smoothing her slacks, and turned to face towards the lounge. Armed with a wide smile and what, she knew, was a clear and piercing look she walked with deliberate strides.

Sara held onto her phone for a while. Its small size fit neatly inside her hand and the battery offering her some warmth. The bay breeze was forming small waves in the water; everything bobbed and curved in bizarre proportions. Her own lanky form now slithered like a snake.

* * *


End file.
